Three Weeks
by fluffy2001
Summary: After Hello Cruel World. After Bobby rescues the boys from the hospital, it's clear Sam is not okay. He won't wake up and his head injury gets far worse. They can't go to a hospital either so Bobby gets creative. Hurt!Sam, Dean angst.
1. Chapter 1

**a/n: It's just hard to keep an old fanfic writer down, isn't it? I've been wrestling with this concept for months, doing a lot of writing and re-writing. I've always wanted to show what happened in those three weeks between "Hello Cruel World" and "The Girl Next Door." After all, it just couldn't have been all calm, rest and relaxation, don't you think? **

**I've got two chapters perfected. I've got to publish them, because I'll just keep editing otherwise! For now, the concept is pretty simple. Bobby rescues the boys from Sioux Falls General, but Sam is hardly out of the woods. His head injury is far more critical than anyone believed. Bobby has to get creative in finding help for Sam while Dean can't do much with a broken leg other than watch his brother struggle. **

**Enjoy! Tons of Hurt!Sam (or is it Limp!Sam?) in these first two chapters.**

* * *

><p>Bobby drove the ambulance several miles, constantly looking at the rear view mirror to make sure they weren't followed. Last he heard, Leviathan couldn't fly or run in super speed, so no vehicles or people on the horizon was a good sign in his book. It did occur to him after a half hour that he had no idea where he had taken them. He just told himself to drive as far away as possible. He thought about asking Dean if he had a clue where they were, but Dean looked disoriented himself. On top of the morphine, he was too busy alternating between worried glances outside and worried glances to the back of the ambulance.<p>

"See anything?" Bobby asked Dean.

Dean moved his eyes from the back to one more check in the rear view mirror. "Nope." Dean frowned. "Where are we?"

"No idea," Bobby said, who sped up faster. "We can't stay out in the open too long though. There's no telling how many are looking for us. Bobby looked over at Dean, who was now wincing. The morphine was probably starting to wear off. He broke his leg once when he was 14, but that was just a hairline. Judging from Dean's expressions, he looked like his leg was about to explode. "I'm sure there's an arsenal of magic pills back there that will dull that pain."

Dean turned toward the back, still discouraged. "Nah, I'll wait until you stop. I don't think I can hobble back there while you're moving."

Bobby could tell there was something more than bad leg pain going on with Dean. "What's bothering you?"

"Everything is bothering me. Look at me. I'm useless. And Sam...what's wrong with him? Why won't he wake up? He normally comes around by now."

Bobby thought that was a good question, but we wasn't about to raise unfounded concerns with Dean in this state.

"Not to mention," Dean continued, "not more than a few hours ago we thought you were dead."

"As you can see, I'm not," Bobby casually replied.

"Thank you freaking captain obvious. Care to tell me how you got away from those bottom feeders?"

"I got home and some man lizard said I was important enough to kill. I guess I had made one of their honorary clubs. I went into the panic room and they tried burning me out. They didn't realize the panic room is fire proof too. They also didn't know about the escape hatch. I ran off to Jody's place pretty fast."

"Oh, she's Jody now," Dean said.

Bobby shrugged. "She might have still been on her happy pills. She insisted we be on a first name basis now. When she heard about two guys fitting your ages being transported to the hospital from my place on the scanner, that was my cue to come and get you."

"And I assume you worked out a great escape plan on your way over?" Dean replied agitated.

"Yeah, I did. It was called getting your asses out of there before you became breakfast."

"Well that worked." Dean swiped his face with his hand and did another rear view mirror check. Then he gasped a little and grabbed his leg, which was throbbing hard now.

"Want to tell me how you guys got into this mess?" Bobby asked, hoping to distract Dean.

"Juan Valdez tossed me into a car and the leg bent in a place where legs don't bend. Sam and I saw the car you had on chains and decided to drop it on him. Before I could take him out with the car, he got Sam with a tire iron."

Bobby's face turned a little paler. "Got Sam with a tire iron? Square in the head?"

"No, in the leg. He's just a little tired right now."

"Cute. What I mean is, how direct was the hit?"

Dean was a bit confused by where Bobby was going with this. "Uh, full impact. Real scary I tell ya. I couldn't get him to wake up. He finally did in the ambulance, but he was still really out of it. Then he started seizing."

"Seizing? What happened when you got to the hospital?"

"Nothing really. They took me into a space in the ER and knocked me out before they worked on my leg. A whole team rushed Sam off another way. I think I heard they were taking him upstairs."

Bobby slammed on the brakes.

"What?" asked an alarmed Dean.

"Upstairs? Did they say anything else that you can remember?"

Dean didn't have a quick answer.

"A medical condition, something."

Dean thought hard. "Um, intercranial pressure."

Bobby's face went white. "Balls." He pulled the ambulance quickly into a drive nearby and parked it.

"What's wrong?" A worried Dean asked.

Bobby quickly climbed in the back and grabbed the chart that was still sitting on the gurney. He sifted through the information page by page. "Oh crap."

"Would you just tell me what's going on?"

"A hematoma? Balls." He lifted off the bandage off Sam's forehead and saw the swelling. The fright in his face then got Dean's heart going.

"What's wrong?"

"Upstairs is where they take the extreme at risk patients. I've spent enough time in that hospital. They were probably coming up with a sound treatment plan while calling dibs on all his spare parts just in case. He's got a bit more than a bump on the head. He's bleeding into his brain Dean."

Dean's stomach dropped hard. "He's what? How serious is it?"

"Natasha Richardson," Bobby replied while still pouring through the chart information. He found a disk that was clipped to the chart. He put the disk in his jacket pocket and rushed back to the driver's seat.

"I don't get it. The dead actress?" Dean replied.

"She bumped her head skiing and died two days later."

"Wait, are you saying she had a...the...whatever Sam's got?"

"Yeah, something like. Do you have any idea what hematoma is? It's fast bleeding in the brain Dean. If that pressure doesn't let up, then you better hope for death, or you'll be wiping up strained peas and whatever other baby food you'll be feeding him off his chin every day."

"Yeah, thanks for the visual." Dean had seen Sam knocked unconscious lots of times. He didn't think this was anything different than before. Why was this happening to them now? "We've got to get him to a hospital."

"You think?" Bobby replied sarcastically. "Those fugly freaks are probably munching like Pac Man at every hospital in the entire midwest by now."

"Where in the world are we going to be able to get him that kind of medical attention then? Dr. Robert?"

"He's too far away. We don't have that kind of time." Bobby got out his phone.

"Bobby!"

"Leviathan hospital. It ain't a soap opera you know."

"I don't care!"

"Hold your horses. I know someone," Bobby said dialing his phone. "He's about a hundred miles away. We'll have to take the backroads to get there, hope we aren't spotted."

"A hundred miles? You better be going top speed in this thing."

"I'm ahead of you." Bobby turned on an open stretch of road and floored the accelerator. He did like the speed these things had in them. "In the meantime, get in the back and watch your brother you idgit. We don't want him dying on us."

Dean sighed, feeling the full mixture of panic and pain now. "Fine, I might as well find those pain pills while I'm at it."

He struggled a bit, but Dean made it over to the seat next to Sam. He had to admit, Sam's color was really off. He grabbed the chart and read over all the information. It made him feel sick. Sam was really in bad shape. He suspected things were bad when Sam was unconscious in the salvage yard, but he didn't want to believe it was really bad. Sam was tough, he's taken many knocks and gotten back up. He just didn't want to think about the worst right now.

"Come on Sammy, you've been to Hell. This is nothing. Just hang in there."

* * *

><p>"We're looking for a what?" Dean anxiously glanced across the open farm field, his field of view limited from the back of the ambulance.<p>

"A windmill. You can't miss it," Bobby replied.

"Is this doctor Dutch or something?"

"Yeah something," Bobby answered.

All Dean saw was corn stalks. His internal "bad feeling" sensors where going off at an extreme level. He checked on Sam again, who he had hooked up to the monitors so he could check vitals. His blood pressure kept dropping, and Dean knew that couldn't be good. Sam was looking a bit paler too, but Dean had hoped that was just from bad lighting. Suddenly the monitor started beeping.

"What's happening?" Bobby asked.

"The rr is dropping a bit. It's pissing the machine off," Dean replied.

"What's it at?"

"10," Dean answered.

"If it gets any lower, we're going to have to hook him up to oxygen. Luckily, we're almost there."

Dean looked outside and felt relieved when he saw the giant windmill off in the distance. It was one of those new modern ones, turning at a snails pace in the light breeze. It stuck out like a sore thumb. Dean soon realized at the base of that windmill was a large farm. "He doesn't have a examination room in the barn, does he?" Dean joked.

Bobby's uncomfortable silence was not the answer Dean was hoping to get. "Nah, I'm pretty sure he moved from the barn."

"Bobby!"

"Last I heard he had his people clinic going in the back of the house."

"People clinic? You said we were taking Sam to someone that can fix him up."

"Yeah, he's a doctor."

"Then what kind of clinic would have a barn?" Dean trepidations were realized a minute later when Bobby pulled into the drive. "Oh, you've got to be kidding me. A vet hospital?"

"Trust me, this guy is good," Bobby replied.

"I hope Sam's ghost comes back and kicks your ass! I swear, if my leg wasn't broken I'd..."

"Bobby Singer!" A light haired middle aged man said, coming out of the house. He walked over to the driver's side of the ambulance. "Glad to see you're coming here in one piece."

Bobby got out of the ambulance. "Yeah, well I've still got trouble. Good to see you doc."

"Got a bad one, eh?" The doctor asked as they walked around to the back.

"This kid is a son to me. I just pulled him and his brother from some serious crap. No one can know we're here."

"In other words, everything's the same," the doc answered. He opened the back door. Dean gave both the doctor and Bobby the stink eye.

"You must be the brother. Looks like you've already been fixed up." The doctor climbed into the ambulance and gave Sam a quick look over. He grimaced a little. "Yeah, he isn't looking too good. I'm not sure taking him from a hospital was a wise move." He picked up the chart and examined the notes. Then he pulled out his light pen and examined Sam's eyes one by one, hunching over the large immobile frame. "Uh oh, the left pupil is blown."

"I've got the DVD of the CAT scan in my pocket," Bobby said.

"Good, we're gonna need it for brain surgery." He and Bobby pulled the gurney with it's unconscious occupant out of the back of the van.

"Brain surgery?" Dean said very alarmed. "Here? On animal farm? Have you ever done that before?"

"There's a first for everything," the doctor said as he and Bobby rolled Sam past him and headed inside. Dean's head dropped into his hand and he rubbed his forehead. "I have a bad feeling about this." He grabbed his crutches and slowly climbed out of the ambulance.

* * *

><p>"Well, there's some good news." The doctor motioned for Dean to join him and Bobby at the computer. Dean rolled over from Sam's bedside in a desk chair Bobby found for him. They were in an isolated back room of the house which had been setup like a triage center. Sam was on the far side of the room still unconscious, hooked up to monitoring equipment, a nasal cannula that gave him extra oxygen and an IV.<p>

"This scan was done a few hours post injury," the doctor explained, pointing to the images. "It's not an epidural hematoma. It's definitely subdural. That means the bleeding is happening at a much slower rate. There aren't any shifting structures in the skull, or at least there weren't when this was taken."

"Why won't he wake up then?" Dean asked.

"That's the not so good news. Unconsciousness like this is never good with a head trauma. It's a worst case side effect." The doctor flipped his scan image over to the eye socket and pointed. "His pupil in the left eye is what really concerns me. It's not responding to light. There's pressure on the cranial nerve. If he survives this, he might not regain use of that eye."

"Are you telling me he's blind in one eye right now?" Dean asked stunned by the news.

"I'm telling you that at this particular moment, that's just one in a list of problems."

Dean wasn't sure what to say about that. He so wanted to take a walk, let this all sink in, but he couldn't.

"What's the best way of relieving this pressure, doc?" Bobby asked, watching Dean with a careful eye.

"A crap load of some really strong drugs for starters. Looks like they already started that in the hospital. You really couldn't have kept him there?"

"Not unless he wanted to keep his liver," Bobby replied. The doctor tried to say something, and then decided he wouldn't ask.

"Do you have the drugs he needs?" Dean asked.

"I can get them. It'll cost you, but I can get them. As a matter of fact, I have an anti-inflammatory I can start right now. Works great on horses."

"We often call him moose," Dean said jokingly. Bobby and the doctor gave him a blank stare. "Okay," Dean replied sheepishly.

"Alrighty," the doctor said getting up. "We'll get that started."

"Hey, doc, what if the drugs don't work?" Dean asked.

The doctor shrugged. "We'll just drill a hole into his brain," he replied casually. He left the room, leaving behind an unsettled Dean.

"He'll what?" Dean said, trying to get up to go after the doctor but his large cast just got in the way.

"Settle down, gimp," Bobby said.

"I swear I'm going to kill all of those bottom feeding mutants with my bare hands," Dean said with gritting teeth. "Right after I punch out that doctor."

Bobby talked in a lower voice. "Dean, you've got to hold it together to Sam's sake."

Dean grumbled and settled down. "I don't know Bobby, it feels like no matter what I do, it doesn't make a difference. We just keep getting screwed at every turn. Your house, now Sam, and I'm even too useless to provide good backup."

"Dean," Bobby said solemnly. "We're gonna have to trust Sam to fight this one."

"Crap, I don't even have my angel lifeline anymore! How is all this happening? What if we run into trouble while the doc tries to fix Sammy? You do know our luck, don't you? Me in a heavily armed rolling chair ain't gonna cut it."

Bobby's glare again told him to calm down.

"Okay, fine, we'll do it the animal doc's way."

Bobby gave Dean a small smile. "Good. How about I go get us some grub? Looks like we're gonna be here a while."

Dean nodded. He watched Bobby leave, and then rolled over back to Sam's side. All the tubes, the extra oxygen, the medicine drips, it overwhelmed him. He rubbed his face, fighting back the frustration. "Aren't we a sorry pair, huh Sammy?"

* * *

><p>Bobby managed to find Dean a wheelchair that he could prop his leg up on and a TV, but Dean could only take so much bad television. He spent much of the afternoon by Sam's side, drifting off several times himself thanks the painkillers for his leg. Every time he woke up, he would take some more, chasing it with whiskey that Bobby snuck in for him. At least Sam wasn't feeling any pain right now. Dean hoped that anyway. Whatever type of Hell visions had been plaguing Sam lately, he had to believe he wouldn't be getting them in this state. He had to believe his brother was having a peaceful rest.<p>

The incident in the warehouse was still too real, too raw in his mind. It scared the crap out of him. Sam could have killed them both. Whatever crap was going on in his brother's mind, he was a long way, if ever, from it getting fixed. How long would he have to worry, have watch Sam with a careful eye? The idea made him far more nervous than Sam making it through this brain trauma.

Dean's thoughts were interrupted by a nurse coming in. She smiled at Dean and quietly went to change Sam's IV.

"You seem a lot nicer than the last backroom nurse I ran into," Dean said.

She smiled again. "You guys are practically soldiers. If anything, you've earned better care than most."

Dean scoffed. "That's the first time I've ever heard that. No one's ever two craps about hunters that I know."

Her smile dropped slightly. "Well they should. It's incredible all that you do."

Dean knew that look. "Someone close to you was a hunter."

"My brother," she confessed. She frowned when writing down Sam's vitals. "He bought it outside Kalamazoo about six years ago. At least he fatally wounded the creature before it got him too. By the end, it was somewhat of a blessing. It got to the point I'd only see him once or twice a year. Each time, he was more and more wrecked. Still, I was very proud of him. Still am. He saved a lot of lives at great sacrifices to himself."

"I'm sorry," Dean said somberly.

"You don't need to be. You know the life. Death is bound to happen sooner or later." She saw Dean's face drop. "Now I should be sorry."

"It's alright. It's the truth. I'm Dean by the way."

"Betsy," she answered with a sad smile. She pulled out a flashlight, checking Sam's pupils. Dean didn't like her grimace. "So young, the both of you. Were you raised in the life?"

"Yeah," answered Dean. "To be honest, we've been worse." He did wonder if dead was worse though.

"I believe that. We've had a lot of bodies come through here, some just in awful shape. Did you know the doc hasn't always been a vet?"

Dean shook his head.

"He met some hunters after working several late night shifts in the emergency ward and became friends with a few of them. Friends that he was never bound to keep. After a while he couldn't take it anymore and switched to animals. He quickly learned though he couldn't be pulled away. You guys really need him, and he feels like he's obligated to save all of you."

She took another close look at Sam, pulling the bandage back to examine the bump on his forehead. She put the flashlight in her pocket in frustration.

"How is he?"

"He's not getting better, sorry to say. Has he woken up at all, even for a few seconds?"

Dean shook his head. "Does this mean he'll need surgery?"

"It's looking that way." She tried to give a comforting look, but Dean saw the tinge of worry underneath it. He gave his own troubled look back.

"Hey, don't worry. What the doc is wanting to do, it's really not that bad."

"Even in a place like this?"

"Well, it's not risk free, but if there's anyone I trust to do it, it's the doc. I won't kid you, head injuries are never routine. Sam's young and strong though, so he's got that going for him."

Dean wasn't sure if he should mention the hallucinations and other trauma Sam's been through, but he decided it didn't matter. What could make his broken head any worse?

"You really look beat," the nurse said. "You need to get proper rest as well. You aren't doing that leg any justice like this. How about I get you a bed to sleep in? I can bring it in here so you can be with your brother."

"Thanks, but-"

"No buts. Consider it doctor's orders."

"I better not refuse then."

"Good. I'll be back in a few minutes."

Dean softly smiled, enjoying the idea of getting some proper rest in a comfortable bed. Times like that were too far between anymore.

snsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsn

Dean sat up quickly, the alarms from the equipment shattering his peaceful rest. To his right he saw Sam still unconscious but thrashing, causing his heart to sink. He looked across the room to see Bobby waking in his chair, looking worried as well. Betsy rushed in and turned on the light, then quickly pulled out her phone. "Dr. Thompson, he's seizing. Yes, I gave him the anti-seizure drip. It isn't working." She hung up the phone and tried to hold Sam still. Bobby was up in no time helping her as well.

"Sammy, hold on. Help is coming," Dean said, not very convinced his brother was listening.

Within two minutes the doctor rushed in the room and checked the EEG. He went into a nearby drawer and pulled out a bottle and a syringe, drawing out the contents of the bottle. He injected the medicine into the IV and watched as Sam calmed down about twenty seconds later. His shared troubled glance with the nurse was not encouraging.

"Betsy, go get the surgical cart," he calmly instructed. "Part of this kid's brain is about to become cottage cheese." She nodded and rushed off.

**a/n:** ** Next chapter, it's just a little back room brain surgery. I can do more if there's interest in this story beyond chapter two. There's plenty of Sam psychosis to be explored! Thanks for reading. **


	2. Chapter 2

**a/n: Thanks everyone for the reviews and story alerts! I guess you like. This next part is getting posted a little later than I intended. I had this chapter written up front as the possible end, and then I got this idea that changed the story. I added another twist that takes the story into a more interesting direction, and definitely extends it beyond chapter two. Hopefully the new twist will spark your interest for more. **

**Happy reading!**

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><p>"Hold on a minute here!" Dean shouted from his bed. "Surgical table? Would you tell me what's going on?"<p>

The doctor waved Bobby to join him over at Dean's bed, trying to act calm but it was clear he didn't have much time. "Let me explain what's going on in Sam's head right now. See those brain waves on this monitor here? He's gone from a sunny day at the beach to a full blown tropical storm. The waves are all coming from the left temporal lobe. There was enough electricity flowing through this kid's brain right now to light up an entire store of Christmas trees."

"And that's bad?" Dean asked.

"Yeah, it's bad. The intercranial pressure on the left side of his brain is now too much for him to handle. We've got to relieve it or if it doesn't kill him, you'll be wiping up strained carrots or other whatever baby food you'll be feeding him off his chin every day."

Dean's agitated glare at both the doctor and Bobby caused them to jump a little in intimidation.

"I said peas," Bobby said leaning toward the doctor.

The doctor shook his head, again choosing not to go there. "We're gonna get started in a few minutes. I'm going to drill a small hole in his skull, right at the base of the bone flap near the temporal lobe. Then I'll insert a tube and we suction the hematoma out. We'll know pretty much right away if it works or not."

Dean tried to take all this in, but that bad feeling-o-meter was ringing again. "Drilling a hole in his skull? Isn't there another way?"

"An act of God comes to mind." The doctor then remembered Dean wasn't in the mood for jokes. "Listen, the longer we wait, the more your brother's brain is going to wither into some form of pulp. The pressure is going to start killing brain tissue soon, if it hasn't already."

"Can I at least ask how many times have you done this?"

"A few," the doctor answered. "It's part of emergency medical training, but we don't like to do it unless we have to. Believe me when I say, we're at the 'have to' part. The procedure should take five to ten minutes."

Dean was still horrified by the idea, not sure what to say. "I don't know."

"Dean, we don't have much time," Bobby said earnestly. "I trust him."

Dean dropped his head and sighed in defeat. "Okay."

"Fantastic," the doctor said taking a few steps toward Sam. He stopped and turned around. "Oh, Bobby, I'm going to need your help."

Bobby and Dean shared a confused glance. "Okay, but I'm not sure what I can do."

"I'll need you to hold Sam down, just as a precaution. We'll strap him down too, but a little insurance doesn't hurt. If the slim chance happens he wakes up flailing, he'll need to be kept perfectly still. Any movement pretty much will do him in."

Dean felt the panic rising again. "Excuse me? Won't he be under for this?"

"We don't exactly have an anesthesiologist on staff here," the doctor answered. He wasn't surprised by Dean's furious stare this time. "Trust me, in his state, he ain't feeling anything. I'll numb the drilling area, but by the time he starts feeling pain, we'll be done."

"This doesn't seem right-"

That's when the nurse came in with the cart. Dean's eyes widened over the contents on top of it. He watched Betsy fasten a weird clamp at the end of Sam's bed, the top part hovering near his head.

"Whoa, whoa, what's that?" Dean protested.

"A skull clamp, standard for any neurosurgery," the doctor answered while getting prepped. "Granted it's meant for a cow, but it works. His head cannot move at all while we're doing this. He won't be in it long."

"Oh then, by all means," Dean replied sarcastically, but his protests fell on deaf ears because the doctor, Betsy, and Bobby all went over to Sam, getting ready to start the procedure.

"Bobby, back me up on this one." There was no response.

"Fine, I'll just be over here if you need me," Dean said, realizing no one was paying attention. He watched uneasily as Sam was strapped down to the table by long straps across his chest, waist and legs, and his head rendered immobile by the clamp. As soon as the doctor turned on the drill, Bobby held Sam's shoulders down.

Dean couldn't believe this was happening. He tried to watch, but he could only squint when the drill hovered just above Sam's left temple. Every instinct in his body told him to get over there and start shooting so he could save Sam from all this. He turned his head away completely, fighting back an uneasy stomach at the sound of the drill slowly carving through bone.

Dean took several deep breaths and managed to control himself, then opened one eye to check on the progress. Sam hadn't moved an inch, so at least he wasn't feeling the bit penetrating his skull. Or if he was, he wasn't protesting. It was still weird though to see a drill bit in Sam's noggin. He didn't think the grinding was ever going to stop, and he held his breath hoping that Sam didn't suddenly wake screaming. A few minutes later, he almost puked when blood started pouring out.

"We have a gusher," said the doctor said happily. The nurse wiped away the blood and the doctor inserted a small tube. Dean saw it fill quickly with a mixture of red and clear fluid. Just when he thought he'd seen it all.

"Uh Dean, get over here," the doctor instructed. "You're needed."

"How am I-" and he got his answer. There were two slits of hazel emerging from Sam's eyes.

"Sam? Sammy! I'm here," Dean said almost falling trying to get to him too fast by hopping on one leg. He regained his balance in time to not bump the bed. "You're gonna be okay Sammy." Sam's half mast gaze fixed on Dean.

"He's awake doc!" Dean said happily.

"Yeah, I caught that," the doctor answered, finishing his procedure.

"Wait, why is he awake?" Dean asked with another spike of worry.

"Cause I fixed him. Guess the pressure was causing unconsciousness, huh?"

Sam may have been awake, but he was groggy and docile. Dean swore he saw Sam's lips move a tiny bit, but nothing came out. Sam in his disorientation started moving slightly. "Don't move Sam," Bobby instructed. "It's important you don't move."

"Sam, I'm almost done here," the doctor said. "I want you to squeeze Dean's hand."

Dean took Sam's left hand and gazed into his blank stare. "Give it a try Sammy." Sam barely managed any movement at all, but Dean felt something. "Is that good?"

"Yep, it's awesome," the doctor replied flatly. Then Sam faded back into unconsciousness.

"Doc, what's happening?" Dean asked.

"Nothing, he's tired. He's had a trying day." The doctor stepped away from Sam and took off his gloves and mask. "You can let go of him now Bobby. I don't think he's going to give us any trouble." The doctor looked at the tube, the fluid draining at a much slower rate. "Perfect."

Bobby went over to Dean and helped him back over to his bed. While that was happening, the doctor picked up a light pen from the table and examined Sam's eyes. "Now we're talking. The left eye is reacting a bit now."

"Can he see from that eye?" Dean asked.

"He was looking at you, wasn't he?" he answered while coming over to Bobby and Dean. "It's probably still a bit foggy. Just like his noggin, it's gonna take a little time to get better. I wouldn't say he's out of the woods, but what I've seen so far is good."

Dean's had a flurry of questions in the back of his mind. "What about that hole in his brain?"

"Hardly noticeable. That thick mop of his will cover it up until it closes on its own. We'll get that tube out soon and bandage him up. For now, he's really weak and will be in and out for a while. The next 48 hours will be very important."

"So we need to stay here for a few more days?" Dean already felt too stir crazy.

"At least. I don't like the idea of moving him for another week, but these aren't normal circumstances are they? We'll re-evaluate in a couple of days." The doctor slapped Dean on the shoulder in congratulations, but Dean wasn't feeling very celebratory.

"Thanks doc," Bobby said before the doctor stepped away. Bobby saw Dean still fixed on Sam very worried. "He's already looking better. There's some color in his cheeks."

"Yeah, I guess so," Dean replied.

Dean looked to his right to see Betsy approaching with the wheelchair. "You can sit with him if you'd like. It's important he sees that you're here when he wakes."

"Thanks, I'd like that," Dean answered. Bobby and Betsy helped Dean into the chair, and then moved him to Sam's side. From his angle, Sam really did look better. He felt relieved. Perhaps they were due small victories once in a while.

* * *

><p>"How's he doing?" Bobby asked, coming in with some bags of food and a fresh bottle of whiskey.<p>

Dean put down the paper he was reading, very excited to see food and drink coming his way. He was starving. "About the same. He keeps coming to and then falling asleep just as fast. Betsy says that's normal." Even though Sam's responses were as predicted, Dean was hoping for better.

"Has he said anything?"

"Nope. They don't seem to think that's a problem yet."

"It's only been a day since he's had brain surgery, I'm sure they're right. He just needs some time." Bobby handed Dean the bag and took a seat at the desk to eat his food.

"You know me, I can't help worrying." Dean tore into his cheeseburger like it was filet mignon. That was the best thing to happen to him all day. While chewing, he looked at Sam little fearful.

"What is it?" Bobby asked, knowing that look from Dean was never good.

"Truth be told, I'm a little afraid of what Sam might say when he does start talking."

Bobby didn't like the sound of that. "Why do I have this feeling there's something you ain't tellin' me?"

Dean's face dropped and rolled himself over to Bobby at the desk. "You'll probably find out sooner or later. There was an incident, right after you left your house. When Sam was alone."

"What kind of incident?"

"I got back to your place and no one was there. So I traced Sam through his cell to a warehouse a town over. I guess he took your van, parked there, went inside and started shooting up the place. I caught him smack in the middle of a full blown hallucinatory meltdown. He didn't even remember driving there."

"That's scary. So what happened?"

"I talked him down from the ledge, that's what. He was waving a gun at me, not sure if I was real. He kept firing at whatever voices he was hearing. I had to convince him I was real before I took a bullet. He was really out of it Bobby. He was out of his mind freaking crazy. Scared the crap out of me. I thought for sure he was going to shoot me and then himself."

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have left him alone."

"That's alright. It would have happened sooner or later. The trouble is, I'm not sure it's over. When we were driving back to your place he insisted he was okay, but I didn't believe him. I mean, he's getting so agitated by Lucifer now he's shooting at things that aren't there? That doesn't go away easily, does it? What kind of crazy are we going to get when he's fully awake? We're gonna need to keep weapons away from him for a while, that's for sure."

"Whatever it is, we'll deal with it Dean. The good news is he's not going to be able to get up and go anywhere anytime soon."

"Him and me both." Dean suddenly didn't feel like eating. He got too depressed over his realization that they don't catch breaks anymore. He snapped out of that somber thought and decided to change the subject. "Anyway, did you find out anything?"

"No, it seems quiet. Nothing reported in the papers. No one seems to be missing their ambulance either. I can't put out too many feelers right now though. Don't want anyone finding us."

"Got that straight," Dean replied.

"I think I found a place for us to lay low for a while though," Bobby said.

"Yeah, where?"

"Montana."

"Ah, perfect. Unibomber central. We'll fit right in."

"It's one of Rufus' old safe houses. Nice and isolated. Should be a great place to do some healing for a while. We can't go though until the doc says it's okay to move Sam. We can't stay here much longer either, so that boy's gotta heal fast."

"Agreed."

"Dean?" A soft voice said across the room.

Dean put down his burger and rolled quickly over to Sam's side. "Sammy, I'm here." Bobby followed Dean, going to the other side of the bed.

Sam weakly rolled his head back and forth a bit, wincing over whatever pain he was feeling. Then he looked at Dean and his eyes widened. He lifted up his left hand at Dean took it.

"Real?" Sam weakly asked. Dean nodded and pressed gently onto Sam's bandaged hand wound.

Sam smiled slightly in his haze. "I see Bobby's alive."

"Doing much better than you," Bobby replied. That got Dean smiling too. Sam smiled a little wider and then fell back asleep. Dean continued to brush the bandage with his thumb, hoping it would help Sam in his slumber.

"What's that all about?" Bobby asked.

"That means he knows we're real. It's what I showed him at the warehouse."

"Well then, sounds like he's making some progress."

"Yeah, I guess so," Dean answered. He was happy Sam was taking his advice, but he still felt very uneasy about Sam's situation. He might recover from this head wound, but will he ever get his head back together? Only time would tell.

* * *

><p>Bobby got a huge lift when the morning fresh air hit him in the face. He loved being the only one that could go out and fetch food and supplies. Sam and Dean usually got to do that and the stuffiness of the room would always get to him shortly after. This country air especially made it even more enjoyable than usual.<p>

He took a few steps toward the van the doctor had gotten for him when he heard the noises coming from outside the barn. He saw a county sheriff car in the driveway and ducked behind a row of bushes near the house. Two men in uniform were prying open the barn door slightly, enough to see the contents inside. One of them opened his cell phone and dialed. "Yeah, it's here. We're gonna check inside for them next."

"What's the plan?" The doctor asked, crouching down behind Bobby in the bushes.

"I don't know, but they can't go inside until I can get the boys out."

"Do what you want with Dean, but you can't have Sam yet."

"But-"

"Consider us in plan B mode." The doctor stepped out from behind the bushes and walked toward the barn. "Excuse me, is there a problem officers?" Bobby used that opportunity to race back inside undetected.

"Dean," he said in a hushed voice, nudging the sleeping man in his bed. "Dean, wake up, we've got trouble."

"What is it?"

"There are two cops outside and they found the ambulance. I sincerely doubt they're cops though. The doc is talking to them outside. We've got to get out of here."

"What about Sam?"

"Just get out of here," Betsy said, coming in with a stretcher in her hand. "Doc and I will take care of Sam."

"I'm not leaving my brother behind," Dean protested.

"We have no choice Dean," Bobby said. "I need you to be with me to create a diversion, make them think the three us of are together. Otherwise they'll split up and one will come in here for Sam. We've got to hurry, I can't leave the doc out there alone too much longer either."

Dean got out of bed and grabbed his crutches. "Fine, but I don't like this."

"Yeah, whatever," Bobby said, moving them both along in a hurry.

"Don't worry Dean, we'll take care of him," Betsy assured.

Dean gave Betsy an uneasy look while leaving.

* * *

><p>The doctor was maintaining his cool outside, but he knew he wasn't dealing with the normal deputies. He knew Bob and Don. These guys didn't seem right. "Any particular reason you find my barn interesting?"<p>

"There's a stolen ambulance in there. We're after three men who took it."

"There's a what?" He walked over to the barn, doing the best he could to buy some time. "How did that get there?"

"So you're telling us you didn't know that was in there."

"No idea. I've been out of town on house calls for a few days."

That's when they heard a motor revving and a van turning out of the drive. They clearly saw Bobby and Dean in the front seat, and what looked like someone on a gurney in the back with them.

"There they are!" The one officer shouted, pointing at the van. They both ran to their car and followed. Bobby and Dean got a good head start, turning right out of the drive onto the main road with the sheriff's car with sirens blazing in hot pursuit a good distance behind.

The doctor watched them leave, and then raced indoors. Betsy was already inside getting ready to move Sam out of the clinic. The doctor helped her lift Sam onto the stretcher. She placed the IV bag at his side and took one end of the stretcher, the doctor the other. They cautiously went outside through the back door, checking first to make sure the coast was clear. Then they moved quickly to a special entrance at the side of the barn. Once inside, the doctor uncovered a hidden trap door under the hay and opened it.

"Now I remember why I moved the clinic from the barn," he told Betsy as they struggled to get the large unconscious man down the creaky old steps. Once they had Sam on an examination table downstairs, Betsy closed the door and locked it, dust flying everywhere among the cobwebs.

"Now I remember why I've always hated plan B," she responded.

**a/n: ****Thanks again for reading!**


	3. Chapter 3

**a/n: Thanks again to all of you who sent reviews and did story alerts. I appreciate it! The holidays are slowing me down a bit, so I did a longer chapter this time. Enjoy!**

"What the Hell Bobby?" Dean asked, noticing Bobby was just keeping a comfortable distance from the Leviathan deputies, watching them in the rear view mirror, letting them follow along.

"I'm trying to outrun them the best that I can," Bobby answered, accepting that the police car was eventually going to outrun the van if they didn't get clever.

"In the meantime, we left Sam behind!" Dean protested.

"One worry at a time. We can't fight these things. Moving them away from the house was the best thing. They think both of you are with me, right? That gives the doc a chance to get Sam to safety."

"Yeah, well I hate this plan."

"Point noted."

Dean noticed the fake officers were gaining on them. "How are we getting away from these guys?"

"I have a few tricks up my sleeve."

"In other words, you have no idea."

"Nah, I got something."

"What's that?"

"Plan B." Bobby suddenly cut right on the next road, fishtailing the van at his high speed before regaining control and going forward.

* * *

><p>"Sam, can you hear me?"<p>

Sam opened his eyes, the new environment taking his already disoriented mind for a loop. He stared at Betsy with alarm.

"It's okay Sam. We had to move you to a safer place. Some people came by looking for you."

Sam looked away and reached for his left hand, finding it a bit difficult to move his right arm because of the IV.

"Do you need some help?"

Sam didn't answer, as his thumb was able to reach and press on his left palm. Nothing changed, so he knew that Betsy and this place was real. "Where's Dean?"

"He and Bobby are out right now."

"Where's Dean?" he asked more adamantly. He knew Dean wouldn't leave him like this with a broken leg unless he had to.

"We ran into some trouble with whoever was after you. Dean and Bobby went to run interference while we got you to safety."

That upset Sam. "He's got a broken leg. He shouldn't be out there." Sam tried to sit up, but only moving a few inches struck him with overwhelming dizziness.

"Whoa, you can't go anywhere in your condition. Your head won't let you even it you wanted to."

"I need to help Dean."

"You can only help him by getting better," Betsy said firmly, holding him down without too much of a fight. "That's all Dean or anyone of us want from you right now."

Sam sighed. He felt responsible for this. He shouldn't have turned his back on that Leviathan. Now he's got Dean and Bobby in an awful mess. While lost in his thoughts of guilt, a nearby wooden table with several medical instruments on it caught his eye. He focused on the differing scalpels on the table. They looked familiar to him.

Sam looked up and suddenly he was the only one there. The place was hazy and lighted in red. He looked back at the table and there was blood all over instruments. "No, no," he said overcome by fear, too frozen in terror to immediately react. He got his bearings and tried to get up and run, but he found he was strapped down tight. He struggled against the leather cuffs, but it was no use. That's when he noticed blood soaking his chest and abdomen, and he could hear the diabolical laughter in the background. "No, don't," he said to the voice, knowing it wouldn't stop anything. Suddenly a sharp, stabbing pain ran slowly up his right leg. He saw it being cut open deep by an unknown source. Blood spurted everywhere when a major artery was nicked. Sam screamed in agony and felt his life slip away.

"Sam!" He suddenly was back in the basement clinic, and Betsy was shaking him. The instruments on the table were clean and he was only soaked in sweat, not blood. His heart was beating out of his chest and he lifted his hand to see he wasn't strapped down.

"I know a PTSD flashback when I see one. Are you okay?" Betsy asked.

"Yeah, I'm okay," Sam answered, even though he was shaking, breathing heavily, and still spooked by what he saw. He was not okay.

"I know hunters like to pretend the flashbacks aren't real. In your condition though, flashbacks can be dangerous. They can trigger seizures or worse."

Sam knew that statement was true, since that's what happened to him in the ambulance. Except he was hallucinating there. He still didn't know what to do though, or how to control what was happening. He needed Dean. He needed someone to help him get through this.

"Sam, you can trust me," Betsy pleaded. "It's just you, me and the doc right now. I can help you. There are ways to deal with the flashbacks. I swear whatever we talk about will be just between us."

"Thanks, but I'm okay." Sam felt himself getting very weak and sleepy. He didn't like this feeling. He didn't like not having control over his body.

Betsy frowned, not at all encouraged by Sam's avoidance. "I'll give you a little something to help take the edge off."

"No, no drugs," he said drowsily. "I just need some sleep..." Sam slipped into unconsciousness again.

Betsy nodded, feeling discouraged but not surprised. She looked at the EEG, which was still more active than she would like for a sleep state. "I'll be right here for you Sam. I won't leave you like this."

* * *

><p>It was a half hour after the pursuit started when Bobby approached a row of warehouses. He suddenly peeled into the third driveway.<p>

"This is going to outrun them?" Dean asked.

"Trust me," Bobby said. He drove around to the back, pulling into an open entrance bay and parking inside. "This way," he told Dean, hurrying him out of the van. They headed right toward a storage area.

Outside, the sheriff's vehicle parked sideways at the end of the drive, blocking the entrance. Both men got out, smiling about having them cornered. "You stay here, make sure no one leaves," one instructed the other. "Call for some help while you're at it." He turned toward the warehouse, smirking even wider. "I'm taking my time. I want to enjoy this." He started walking slowly down the drive.

The complex contained a cluster of warehouses, each with its own delivery bay. The deputy walked around the back, not expecting to see anything obvious. It was quiet. Most warehouses had their doors closed, but a couple were loading into trucks. He checked the closed doors one by one, finding them locked tight. He looked inside the open doors, but found no sign of the white van he was looking for or the three men in it. Considering two of them were injured, he knew they couldn't go far on foot. The thrill of the hunt got him more excited. He was glad they were making it difficult. It would make finding them more satisfying.

The deputy checked the back of the trucks being loaded to make sure there wasn't anywhere for three men to hide, or even one if they decided to split up. Nothing like that was being loaded. He checked the bottom of the trucks to make sure no one was latching on or if there were secret compartments. There was no sign of that. His search of the truck cabs turned out to have no signs of anyone hiding as well.

When the deputy got to the last bay, something caught his eye. The door had been closed, but not properly latched. He lifted up the door and he could tell there was something that was hastily concealed behind some boxes inside the warehouse. He entered quietly, checking to see if anyone was around. No one was there. His wicked smirk widened again when he went over the boxes and saw what was behind them. A white van. He checked the front seats, no signs of life. Then he cautiously opened the right side back door, finding the van was empty except for a gurney. The didn't frustrate him. The hunt was now more exciting.

"I know you guys are around here somewhere," he said, only hearing his echo. Nearby there were a couple of shrink wrapped crates. He smiled and put his toe through one of them. There was some heavy equipment inside, breaking a few toes of the human he was copying. He shook it off quickly and moved on. He checked the second crate, finding it was too light for a human to be inside.

The deputy went into the office, checking under the desks, the lockers, not seeing anywhere adequate for a human to hide. "They couldn't have gotten far," he said to himself. He started tapping walls and searching everywhere for hidden compartments.

"You find them?" The other deputy said coming inside behind him.

"No, but they're around somewhere. I can feel it. We'll have to check all of these places." They along with three other men continued the search.

* * *

><p>"What is this place?" Dean asked Bobby, choking a little on the musty air and flying dust. He didn't like the dim light either. It reminded him too much of Hell.<p>

"An old bomb shelter. They found it when they were building this complex. Someone thought it would make a great hiding place and kept it intact."

"They thought this place would be? I've been in some dives in my day, but this is crappy. How did you find out about it?"

"The doc. It's amazing what you find out about while working in an emergency room."

"So this was the big Plan B, huh? Hide in here and hope those mutants don't find it?"

"Whoever built this was determined to be concealed from communists. They won't be able to find it."

"Yeah, I saw that coming in. But will anyone else? How long will we have to stay here?"

"As long as it takes. There's enough food and water down here to survive for a while."

"So while we're ducking down here, what's happening to Sam?"

"They've got him in another hiding place at the farm. I'm sure they're tending to his needs as well."

Dean pulled out his cell phone, not at all surprised that he had no service. "They couldn't have put any kind of cell reception down here."

"Well it ain't a very good hiding place if they can track your cell signal, is it?"

"I'm not hiding down here. I can take them, broken leg and all."

"What are you going to do, bleed on them? Just sit down and quit yer whining. There's a case of aged scotch down here, so it ain't all bad."

Dean sank down into a cot and grumbled when dust went flying. He settled into a semi comfortable position and propped his aching leg up. "Please tell me there's some sort of pie down here too."

Bobby looked on the shelf. "Hostess lemon."

"Fine," Dean said with resignation, holding out his hand, taking the pie from Bobby.

"How is it?" Bobby asked, watching an unenthusiastic Dean chew.

Dean gave him a sardonic grin. "It tastes like cardboard and paste. Thanks for asking."

* * *

><p>"What did you want to show me?" the doctor asked, coming over to Betsy. She pointed at the EEG. The doctor frowned.<p>

"These are some really intense nightmares. He hasn't woken up from them?"

"Nope. He jerks around a little, but so far he hasn't."

"Not what I want to hear about one of my recent brain surgery patients. It figures though. These guys have seen so much horror, they're subject to all sorts of crap. Look at his heart rate and blood pressure. It's through the roof. Next time you see a big spike in the EEG, wake him."

"Isn't that risky?"

"Hell ya. So be prepared for the worst there too."

"Yes Dr. Thompson." Betsy took a seat next to Sam, watching him peacefully rest for now. It was obvious he'd been through a major trauma. The thought broke her heart. He was so young, much younger than what they normally saw. She'd seen several hunters reach their breaking point, but none this young. A lot of them ended up with a self-inflicted bullet through their chins. She couldn't bear the thought of that happening to Sam.

What worried her most though was something about Sam seemed worse. She wondered what sort of trauma this man could have been through that was could be so terrifying, but it was unlike others she had seen. Then again, she didn't get to see a lot of EEG spikes in the hunters that came through her way. Her sixth sense though told her something about this kid was extra terrifying.

The EEG started making noise when the waves spiked again. Betsy got up and confirmed that Sam was in distress. "Sam, wake up," she said shaking him. He didn't rouse at first. "Sam, please, wake up for me," she said shaking him harder. Sam started flinching more, but he still wouldn't rouse. "Please Sam!"

Sam's eyes popped open and he took in a sharp breath. Betsy checked his pulse, which was sky high. "It's okay Sam, it's a nightmare."

"No, don't touch me!" Sam said yanking his hand away. He was disoriented, and had look of absolute terror on his face.

"You're safe Sam, it's just a dream," She even took his left hand and pressed her thumb into the palm as hard as she could without breaking the stitches. "You see?"

Sam stared at her hazily, not understanding what was happening. He was breathing hard, unable to catch his breath, was sweating heavily, and still very fearful. "No, no," he said, and a few tears started sliding down his cheeks.

"Dr. Thompson, I can't fully wake him!" she shouted toward the office. "He's caught in a night terror."

"Please, stop," Sam whispered, looking forward and shaking like a leaf. Then he let out a scream in pain.

The doctor came out quickly to take a look. He tried to make eye contact, but wasn't successful. Sam continued to look all over the place in a daze. "Sam, you have to calm down. If you don't it could cause a-" It was too late. Sam's eyes rolled to the back of his head and he broke into convulsions.

"Crap," the doctor said. He removed the pillow from under Sam's head and laid him flat.

"I guess waking him from the dream wasn't a good idea, huh?" Betsy asked.

"No, it's not that. He probably started with a temporal lobe seizure, something that should be expected given his injury. However that worked it's way to a grand mal, no so expected. Given the EEG activity I wouldn't be surprised if he's got a really bad case of PTSD, an occupational hazard for any of these guys. Throw it all together and I have a better chance of predicting the weather."

"He had what I thought was a PTSD flashback earlier. I tried to get him to talk about it, but he went back to sleep."

After a minute, Sam finally calmed down from his seizure and slipped back into sleep.

Betsy let go of Sam and breathed a sigh of relief. "So what now?"

The doctor examined the EEG. "We'll have to react as things come. We gotta get him stable first. Once we get past that, we've got to show this kid how to deal with his episodes before they kill him."

* * *

><p>"What are the chances we're going to go through this case in one night?" Dean asked slurring his words a bit, handing his glass over to Bobby in an unsteady way.<p>

Bobby looked at Dean a little skeptical. They had only had a couple of drinks each. "I was hoping we would have passed out by now," Bobby answered, filling Dean's glass only a quarter full.

"How long have we been in here?" Dean asked, rubbing his eyes with the palm of his hand before downing his drink.

"12 hours," Bobby said.

"I say we surface and see if the coast is clear."

"Oh yeah, we're gonna be able to fight these guys in our condition. We're no match for them normal."

Dean smiled. "Come on Bobby, we've never been normal." Dean knew the joke fell flat from Bobby's quick, sardonic smile.

"Anyway, The plan is we wait here until we get the signal," Bobby said.

"And when do you anticipate that happening?"

Bobby shrugged. "No idea."

Dean rubbed his face. "Of course not. You think Sam is having a better day than us?"

"He's probably getting more sleep. How's that leg of yours by the way?"

"Throbbing hard, but I'll live."

"The pills aren't fixing that?"

Dean shrugged. "I ran off without the antibotics and pain pills. The scotch will help with the pain, am I right?"

Bobby held up the lantern closer to Dean's face. "You sure you're okay? You seem a little flush."

"It's the scotch, I'm fine."

"Okay. Why don't you get some sleep? I'll take first watch."

Dean yawned. "Yeah, that's probably a good idea. Thanks Bobby." Dean stretched out on his cot, getting comfortable.

"Don't mention it," Bobby said, watching Dean fall asleep quickly. He wondered why Dean was acting a bit strange, but then again he had been through a lot lately. He convinced himself some rest was all Dean needed. He opened up his book, hoping some inspiration would hit him on how to get out of this mess.

* * *

><p>"He's waking up now," the doctor said in a low voice to Betsy. "He seems stable for now. Time to do what you do best."<p>

"I'll do what I can," Betsy said, sadly looking at Sam.

"I'll be back in the office if you need me Betsy," the doctor said loud enough for Sam's benefit.

"Sam?" Betsy said coming over to his side, watching Sam open his eyes. There was something about the look in his eyes was a bit more clear. "Sam, do you understand me?"

"What's happening?" Sam asked in a haze.

"You've been having a furious string of flashbacks and nightmares. We can't get it to stop."

"Where's Dean and Bobby?" Sam asked, focusing on Betsy in the low light.

"They aren't back yet," Betsy said.

"Not back yet?" Sam said alarmed. "What time is it?"

"Don't worry, they're probably in hiding."

"Probably? You don't know where they are?" Sam again tried to sit up, but didn't get up a few inches. "What's wrong with me?" He closed his eyes but the world continued to spin. Then something dawned on him. "You aren't real."

"Really?" she said, grabbing his left hand and pressing on his wound. "Doesn't that seem real?"

Sam blinked several times and rolled his head back and forth, the world slowly coming into focus.

"Take your time Sam. You've been having nightmares and seizures for several hours now. You've got us worried."

"Nightmares?" Sam tried to remember, and it all hit him. He was in Hell again, reliving it all. It was like he never left. _Have I left? None of this is making sense. _He put that all aside though, for something else was on his mind. "I need to find Dean and Bobby."

"You're too sick to go anywhere," Betsy countered. "We knew the first 48 hours would be rough. So far, you've had quite an intense 36."

Sam tried to sit up again, but this time he felt sick and started choking. Betsy had a basin handy, but after a minute Sam waved her off. "I'm okay. Please, I need to find Dean and Bobby?"

"You need to focus on you. They're taking care of themselves, remember?"

Sam didn't like that answer, but he was in no condition to argue. He scanned the environment around him, and it came back to him slowly. They were taking care of him in a cellar. They were in hiding.

Betsy sat down, and gave Sam a sympathetic smile. "Sam," she said softly, "We need to talk. These flashbacks, or dreams, or hallucinations you're having, whatever it is, you and I need to work through them. They're killing you Sam. If you don't die, you'll be insane in no time."

"They'll go away. They always do."

"No Sam, they won't. They never do and you know that. You're reliving your trauma and your mind can't process it very easily."

"That's because the wall came down."

"The what?" She asked, a little confused.

"Never mind. I'll manage this," he assured.

She took his left hand, again giving him the reminder that she is real. "It's okay Sam. What's happening, it happens to the best of hunters."

"I can handle it," Sam insisted.

"I'm sure you can. All I want to do right now is give you a few pointers, help you work through the anxiety. We need to stop the seizures. It'll just be between you and me. There's no need for Dean, or Bobby, or even the doc to find out."

Sam didn't answer and looked away apprehensively.

"I know it's hard to trust right now. You've been through so much and I know hunters are taught to bury everything. My brother was a hunter Sam. I saw what the life did to him. Believe me when I say, I know how to help."

Sam saw her earnest face, and slightly frowned. "No one can help me."

"That's not true. You seem like a very strong young man. I've seen enough hunters flame out because of their trauma. I've seen many commit suicide."

"I'm not like that."

"No? So you can honestly tell me that suicide hasn't come up at some point? In a flashback, in a dream, in reality? It's never crossed your mind?"

Sam hesitated, the incident in the warehouse with Dean still too fresh. "It's hard to explain."

"I'm here to help you Sam. I can help right here, right now. Dean would never have to know. I know he's your brother, but he's also a hunter. I can tell he's barely holding it together himself. You don't have to do this alone."

"Thanks, but I've got some really strange crap happening right now."

"Everyone experiences these things differently. All I'm asking is that we work on a few coping techniques. Enough that when you have these episodes in the future, you'll be able to deal with them."

Sam wasn't sure what to do. He was teetering on an edge, that's for sure. Something about Betsy though, he could tell she could be trusted. "What do you want me to do?"

Betsy warmly smiled again, doing her best to assure Sam he was doing the right thing. "What I'm going to ask is a bit difficult at first, but you need to tell me in detail what's happening in your flashbacks."

"Why?"

"It's important that you acknowledge them, know what they look and feel like. That way, you don't get caught in them and believe they are real. With each flashback, you need to tell me what you're feeling. What has you so terrified."

"It's not that easy."

"We need to try."

"No, it's just that before the attack, I was having hallucinations as well. I haven't had any since then though."

"That's why you need someone to grab your left hand. Wherever you learned that, that's good. That's a great way to unfreeze the pattern you're in. It interrupts your mind trying to process all the horrible things that have happened."

Sam was both relived and terrified at the same time for having this conversation. There was so much going on in his mind right now, he was too afraid of losing control. "It all started...I mean it happened when...I was...I was captured for a long time and tortured."

Betsy's faced dropped. "I'm so sorry Sam. That sounds horrible. But you're safe now."

Sam nodded, scrunching his lips together. His memories were still so fresh, so real, so terrifying. That's when he looked up and saw Betsy bathed in red light. Her face was distorted and there was evil laughter in the background. Sam's eyes widened.

"Sam!" Betsy said, grabbing his left hand. "There, you were having another flashback. You need to tell me about it."

Sam hesitated, taking in a deep breath. "It's pretty scary."

"I know. I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important."

"I was...there. The awful smell, the lights, the laughter. I can't escape."

"What are they going to do Sam?"

"Torture me. It was something different every time." Sam sadly scoffed. "They got very creative."

"What were you feeling emotionally as you waited for them to torture you?" She was encouraged that he was opening up.

"Terror, panic, fear."

"Hopelessness?"

"Yeah," Sam said, looking down at his hands.

"Any guilt?"

Sam wasn't sure what she was asking.

"Did you feel like any of this was your fault?"

Sam hesitated. This was digging a bit deeper than he wanted to go.

"Please Sam, trust me when I say this is important. If we don't get to the root of what you're feeling, we can't conquer the flashbacks."

"Yeah, a bit. I was in this mess because of something I did."

"Do you think you deserved this punishment?"

Sam had to think about that a bit. "Yes."

Betsy's heart broke over that answer. "No one deserves that kind of punishment Sam. There's nothing you could have done that warranted being tortured and hurt so badly. You were a victim of someone very sick. That's what you need to do, accept that you aren't responsible."

"But I was." Sam felt overwhelmed by what he was hearing. It had to be his fault. Why else was he being punished like this?

"Then don't you think you've suffered enough? Think about Dean, think about Bobby, think about all the people you've saved. Wouldn't they be better off if you got past this? You need to look at what happened and realize you're on the other side of it. It's all past now."

Tears welled a bit in Sam's eyes, for the pain of it all was still too raw. "It feels so real."

"Then let's continue with that." She grabbed his hand again, this time in support. "What did you think about while you were being tortured? Did anything give you hope?"

* * *

><p>Bobby looked up from his reading, and saw Dean shivering while he slept. He didn't like the look of that. He got up and threw a blanket on top of him. That's when he noticed the beads of sweat all over Dean's forehead. He touched it with the back of his hand. It was burning up. "Balls."<p>

"Dean, wake up," Bobby said jostling him a little.

Dean woke up, but he was groggy. "Why is it so cold him here?" Dean asked, clutching onto the blanket and shivering more.

"It isn't. What's wrong with you?"

Dean's teeth started to chatter. "Nothing, I'm just really cold." Dean wiped his forehead. "Why am I sweating?"

"Cause you've got an infection, that's why," Bobby answered. "I swear, you boys can't even heal right."

**a/n: Thanks for reading! More coming soon. The goal here is to try and follow continuity as much as possible between the end of Hello Cruel World the rest of season seven, more importantly The Girl Next Door. It's a fill in the blanks story. Sam seems so well adjusted now, I liked the idea that he got some help along the way that Dean and Bobby weren't aware of.**


	4. Chapter 4

**a/n: Sorry for the length in update. Real life again. This is a long one. I was going to make it shorter, but since I made you wait this long, I included part of the next chapter in this one. Enjoy!**

* * *

><p>Sam slowly opened his eyes, feeling very groggy, but well rested. He hadn't felt this way in so long. He enjoyed it for a split second, until he saw where he was. Suddenly, something wasn't right again.<p>

"What's wrong Sam?" Betsy asked, noticing his quick panic.

"Dean, is he back?"

Betsy's solemn look confirmed he wasn't. "The doc has gone up to see if there's been any word, plus do some house calls at nearby farms so to not arouse suspicion. If the coast is clear here, we'll find a way to get to him and Bobby."

Sam understood, but he couldn't avoid the worry. He knew Dean and Bobby were grown men and good hunters, but he still didn't like that they were gone this long. Of course considering he was spending most of his time sleeping, he didn't know how long they had been gone.

"In the meantime, you just had a long period of some helpful rest. The sedative we gave you seemed to work. No nightmares or seizures. Everything I'm seeing this morning is a vast improvement."

"This morning? How long was I asleep?"

Betsy looked at her watch. "About 16 hours."

"And Dean hasn't contacted anyone yet?"

"If everything went according to plan, they're hiding in one of our safe locations. We're doing best we can to find out."

Sam tried to sit up. Half way up the world started spinning again, but this time he didn't feel like he wanted to barf. He was able to steady himself after a minute. When he tried to work his way up more, Betsy pushed him back down.

"That's great Sam, but no getting up for you yet. We can't risk you falling down and bumping your head. You're still on bed rest for at least a few more days."

Sam frowned in discouragement. He wanted to get out of this place, get together with Dean and Bobby so he and Dean could recover and regroup in a distant hideout. He wished he could be wherever they were right now. As his worry continued to spike, suddenly he was hit with a flash of himself hanging by his wrists, feeling his insides being shredded of within. It was quick, but his sudden reaction of grabbing his head signaled Betsy something had happened. Sam quickly pressed his left hand, and it was over.

"You okay?" Betsy asked.

"Yeah," Sam said, feeling a little better. "It was just a quick flash."

"Okay, as long as you're alright."

Sam nodded and Betsy went back to her reading. He took a minute to calm himself down, amazed that he was able to do so. He liked that there were ways to fight this. "Betsy, you know, what we talked about yesterday."

"Yes, I remember."

"Um, I was curious, what I'm doing, will that help if the hallucinations come back?"

Betsy warmly smiled, put her reading down and pulled her chair closer to him. "Sam, you're using very basic coping strategies. You might find that you're going to have to try different things as time goes on, especially in your line of work. There's many different therapies out there, and everyone processes trauma different."

"What have others, like me, done?"

"I've seen all kinds of things. The key is to face what's in your mind, not be afraid. Journaling your fears as soon as they surface helps. Visualizing some place calm or soothing during those times is good too. Deep breathing doesn't hurt."

"What else?" Sam asked.

Betsy thought about some other things. "Some take up painting or writing. Others exercise daily. It helps with mental fitness as well as physical. A lot bury themselves in their work as a distraction, but that never works for your profession. If anything, I see hunters crack up faster that way. I usually recommend a nice long walk when things get too tense."

Sam nodded. "Okay."

"Sam, another thing, and I know this is hard for hunters to do, but emotional release is crucial. It's okay to cry or get angry or scream or something. Burying your feelings is the absolute worst thing you can do. I know most like to go off by themselves when this happens, have some alone time and deal. That's okay."

Sam slightly smiled. "That the opposite some advice I once got."

"Yeah, well hunters make lousy shrinks. It's no wonder the survivors all end up a little off the deep end. Talking about your feelings with someone else helps too. Is this something that you can do with Dean?"

Sam sadly smiled. "Nah. Once upon a time, yeah, we used to talk all the time. But now, it's just...different."

"I'm not surprised. I've seen that happen with hunting partners every time. It gets too hard on both sides." Betsy reached over to the table, grabbed a pen and a notepad. "I'll give you my number. I'm not certain I'll be able to talk when you call, but I will call back." She wrote her number on the notepad, tore off the top page and placed it in Sam's laptop bag. She saw that uncertain look on Sam's face. "You don't have to. It's just there if you don't know where else to go."

Sam nodded, but she could tell he wasn't crazy about the idea.

"How about I get you some breakfast?" She said, changing the subject. "The doc said that you should be able to try some food today."

"Sure," Sam said, still not feeling very hungry. He felt very weak though and hoped the food would do him some good. He looked back at the bag where Betsy had just placed her note. "Betsy, is it okay if I use the laptop?"

She grabbed the bag, and handed it to him. "Sure, shouldn't be a problem."

"Thanks," Sam said, feeling like he was reuniting with a friend. He opened the computer and waited for it to start up. He was anxious to scan the news stories of the area, see if there was any word about the Leviathan. Somehow though, once he opened the browser, he found himself searching on hallucinations and post traumatic stress disorder instead.

* * *

><p>"I'm pretty sure there's a thermometer in this kit somewhere," Bobby said, going through the old medical bag.<p>

"No antibiotics though, huh?" Dean answered, his teeth still chattering. He felt awful, like when he had the flu a few years ago. This was worse since his leg pain was now getting near unbearable.

"There's some aspirin," Bobby said, finding an old bottle.

"I'll take it," Dean replied, holding out his shaking hand. He struggled a bit to open the bottle and noticed something. "These are so old, there's no expiration date."

"All the crap you face and you're afraid those are gonna kill you?"

Dean shrugged, finished opening the bottle and popped several pills. He shuddered when they didn't go down smoothly, burning a little. He chased it down with some scotch. He rolled over and stared at the worn by age ceiling. "I'm getting sick of staring at this roof, Bobby."

"I know," he said, finding the thermometer, smelling it to make sure it was okay. He went over to Dean and put it in his mouth. "If you don't improve, you won't be seeing it for much longer."

"I'b ba fin," Dean said keeping the thermometer in his mouth.

"Don't talk with your mouth full," Bobby chided. He was definitely thinking about plan C right now. Plan B worked in the short term, but they had to get out of Dodge, now. He had two seriously wounded men on his hands. They needed to get out of the line of fire and regroup. The mental checklist he had alone for his own affairs was large, having the boys to nurse wasn't helping. He had to rebuilt now that home base was gone. He was going to have to...

"Bobby?" Dean asked.

"Yeah?" Bobby replied.

"You do have a way to contact someone up there, don't you?"

"Yeah, there's a panic button down here. I can use it if I have to."

"Good, because we might not be able to take the stench down here." Dean reached for a nearby bucket, and proceeded to throw up in it.

Bobby grabbed the thermometer from Dean. "104? Balls. Well that settles it. Time to go topside."

While Dean was still retching, Bobby went behind the ladder and pushed an old worn buzzer. He felt the buzz as it fired.

"I'll be back," Bobby told Dean. He climbed up the ladder, opened the hatch, and went through the narrow opening. It led up into a wooden crate that stood about four feet tall by eight foot wide, so he had to crouch down and wait. A few minutes later someone arrived with a crowbar and pried the crate open just a small crack, letting a small amount of light in.

"It isn't safe right now. They're still checking out the place on a regularly," a dock worker told Bobby whispering.

"We've got to move now. I've got a very sick man down there."

The worker sighed. "This can't wait?"

"Nope," Bobby said.

"Fine. Give us twenty minutes. We'll forklift you into one of the trucks we're loading. You guys better be in this crate ready to go."

"Got it," Bobby said. The worker proceeded to close the crate back up again with the end of the crowbar. Bobby fumbled for the hatch and went back downstairs to retrieve Dean.

* * *

><p>Sam woke up when he felt the drop of the IV bag on top of his legs. He looked around and saw Betsy and the doctor scrambling.<p>

"What's going on?"

He didn't get an answer, and the sight of an oddly shaped body bag being put out on the table next to him didn't help. It looked as through three people could fit into it. They started stuffing blankets, papers, and a oxygen tank into it. "Um, what's that for?"

"Our one window of opportunity to get you out of here," the doctor answered, while he and Betsy finished with the bag. They came over to Sam when they were finished.

"On the count of three, one, two, three..." Suddenly Sam was hoisted up and moved to over to the table, resting on top of the bag.

"Whoa," Sam said, but he was interrupted when an oxygen mask was suddenly strapped onto his head, covering his nose and mouth. "I hope you're not claustrophobic," the doctor said. "If you are, this is really gonna suck."

Sam pretty much got the plan when the edges of the bag were being closed around him, the pull of a zipper attempting to seal him inside. He moved the mask from his face. "Wait a second, where are we going? How long do I have to be like this?"

The doctor scoffed. "Why do you think there's an oxygen tank? Gonna be a while. This is my weekly upstate delivery of animal carcasses to the crematorium. You are now the remains of a dead cow. My condolences." He tried to zip up the bag completely, but Sam threw his hand in to stop.

"Hold on, what about Dean and Bobby?"

The doctor shrugged. "Who knows. That all depends on Bobby. He sent the 911 that it was time to move now. I wasn't told how he planned on holding up his end."

"What sort of 911?" Sam asked.

"Don't have time to discuss now. Hold all your questions until after the tour." The doctor put the oxygen mask back on and sealed up the bag.

Sam wiggled a little, issuing a muffled protest from within his enclosed space. "Oh, whatever you do, don't move once we get outside," the doctor said slightly louder as he and Betsy moved Sam onto the stretcher. "Moving body bags are a bit disturbing to the naked eye." Sam replied something, but it was too muffled for anyone to know what he said.

Betsy and the doctor carried the loaded stretcher up the stairs and placed it on a large cart that was waiting at the top. There were three other smaller bags nearby, filled with real dead animals. They wheeled the cart outside to a waiting livestock trailer and opened the back for loading. The doctor looked in the distance and saw a local sheriff's vehicle driving slowly by on the main road.

"Yeah, keep looking," the doctor said, pretending not to notice the officer. "It's just a dead cow." They rolled the cart into the back of the trailer and secured it into place with straps. After they were satisfied that the cart and bag was secure, they went back and forth from the barn loading the other bags as well, noticing the sheriff making another pass in that time. He and Betsy glanced at each other, acknowledging in their silence they doing their best to make sure it looked like a normal delivery day.

The doctor went to close the back doors of the trailer when he heard a muffled groan. "Be thankful you're in that bag," the doctor whispered. "The stench could be far worse without it." He closed the back gate. He and Betsy got into the truck and drove away.

* * *

><p>"Get a move on Butch Cassidy," Bobby said, coming off the ladder. He grabbed their bags and looked around to make sure they weren't leaving anything else.<p>

Dean got up shaking, but he was strong enough to stand up and hold onto a table for support. "We're leaving?"

"Yeah, but they're still out there. If they decide to follow the truck we're leaving in, it'll be a short trip."

"What about Sam?"

"How should I know? That's for the doc to worry about. I'm in charge of getting our sorry asses out in one piece."

"Awesome," Dean replied.

Bobby climbed up the ladder first and opened the hatch. He worked his way through the narrow opening then held out his hand to help Dean, who only had the support of one leg. "I hope you're not claustrophobic," Bobby told Dean as he pulled him up.

"Not awesome," Dean said once he made it all the way up. He just wanted to curl up in a warm bed and go to sleep. Bobby closed the hatch right when they heard a forklift approaching. They both went to the opposite ends of the crate to steer clear of the hatch sized hole at the bottom of it.

"Hold on," Bobby said, as both braced themselves. Suddenly they felt the crate being lifted up. They were on their way.

* * *

><p>The two hour drive stuffed in a bag with other bags of rotting meat nearby wasn't exactly Sam's idea of a country drive. It was unpleasant, uncomfortable, and the stink made him want to barf. All he wanted to know though was what was up with Dean. The doctor mentioned Bobby, but he didn't say anything about Dean. The longer the drive, the more he agonized over the thought that something was wrong. He wanted to know what was going on now.<p>

Plus for some strange reason he was feeling claustrophobic now. The wooden slab of the cart wasn't very comfortable at all and he was tightly packed in the bag, making shifting difficult. Every piece of him was stiff and aching. _Torture in Hell was more accommodating, _Sam thought.

The oxygen tank wasn't helping either. Every time they hit a bump, the top valve hit him in a place that...wasn't so pleasant. He also wondered how long the tank would last. He assumed he would have some air left in that bag if the tank ran out, but he knew it wouldn't be much. He was hoping for a trip without many delays.

After what seemed like an eternity being jostled around, the trailer eventually stopped. Sam heard the truck doors open and close and the voices outside. He made sure he didn't make any movement, which wasn't hard considering he was too stiff anyway. Suddenly the doors to the back opened, and the cart was slid out of the trailer. Sam felt it being rolled from a driveway onto a concrete floor while the doctor, Betsy, and some other man talked about how their week went. _Their week sounds better than mine, _Sam thought. After rolling a bit into what Sam surmised was inside a building, the cart stopped. Sam heard the three voices trailing away and the sound of a large metal door shut behind them.

After the echo from the door closing cleared, Sam heard nothing more for at least a half hour. He wondered if he should say or do something, but he had no choice but to wait. Walking away wasn't going to be possible. He could barely sit up. It was right around that time that the oxygen tank began to sputter. _Crap._

* * *

><p>Dean continued to shiver, his arms wrapped tightly around him. He wasn't sure how long they'd been in the box, but this bumpy truck ride was pissing him off. He definitely didn't like it when his misery was enhanced by a thin light blinding him.<p>

"You look like crap," Bobby told him after he pulled out his flashlight and took a look at the young man.

"Yeah, thanks for telling me something I don't know."

"Just wanted to make sure you were still alive." Bobby put the flashlight down but left it on so they at least had a meager source of light.

"You don't know how much longer we're going to be in here?"

"No idea," Bobby answered. That's when Bobby heard something in the distance.

"What is-"

"Shh," Bobby ordered, continuing to listen. Dean did as was told, since Bobby was always better at hearing things. When the truck stopped, Bobby turned off the flashlight and grabbed his gun. Within seconds, there was a thin crack of light and they could see the crowbar opening the crate.

* * *

><p>Sam moved his hand along the top of the bag, looking for a way to open it. He was out of time. Another half hour passed and breathing was getting difficult. He kept fumbling, each second passing raising more panic inside him. <em>Focus, focus.<em>

Right when he found something, he heard the sound of the metal door creaking open. He stopped moving. The footsteps on the other side of the room came closer. _Crap, why didn't I ask for a weapon?_ He readied his fist, even though the thought occurred to him he was still pretty weak to deliver any kind of effective blow.

Sam was startled when the bag was abruptly ripped open. The light blinded him and he took in a deep refreshing breath, thus preventing any kind of retaliation. It took several seconds for him to adjust, but that's when he saw Bobby's smiling face.

"Well don't you look just pitiful?" Bobby said.

Sam weakly smiled. "I feel worse."

"Yeah well, sorry we're late. We had to do a quick vehicle switch and make sure we lost whoever was following us." Bobby was about to help Sam up, but the doctor stopped him.

"He still gets really dizzy sitting up. You might not want him upchucking all over you." Bobby shrugged and helped Sam sit up anyway. Sam reacted by turning a nice shade of green.

"Where's Dean?" Sam asked, choking over the wave of nausea that hit him.

"Back there," Bobby said, pointing to a nearby van.

"What happened to you guys?" Sam asked.

"We'll explain later. We gotta get moving fast. We've only got a few minutes."

Bobby and the doctor lifted Sam to a gurney and promptly wheeled him over to the van. As Sam was loaded, he saw Dean on his own gurney on the right hand side of the van, looking pale with an IV attached to him.

"What happened to you?" Sam asked as the wheels on his bed were locked into place.

"Bacterial infection," Dean answered.

Sam pointed to his bandage on his head. "Brain surgery," he countered.

"Showoff," Dean said, rolling his eyes.

Bobby and the doctor looked at each other and shook their heads. "Maybe we should just shoot them now," the doctor said.

"You just described my daily struggle," Bobby countered. They both closed the van doors. Within a minute, Bobby was in the front seat and they were on their way to Montana.

* * *

><p>Sam looked at the long, peaceful path in front of him. It was a cloudy day but the warm breeze coming from the North made it pleasant. There wasn't a soul around, even though there were houses off to the right of him and a railroad track to the left. He just kept walking down the path, enjoying the peace and the fresh air.<p>

"Nice here, isn't it Sam?" Sam jumped, stunned to see who was to the right of him.

"That's right, I'm your happy place too. Care to hold hands while we stroll?"

Sam ignored Lucifer and walked forward, but Lucifer followed behind and Sam couldn't shake his presence.

"You can't get rid of me Sam..."

Sam popped awake, instantly noticing it was dark all around him. He was sweating and as soon as he tried to sit up, the world started to spin. He fell backward, remembering where he was. He saw Dean asleep on the couch and Bobby at the table, the dim light of the desk lamp lighting his face while he read. "Bobby?"

Bobby looked up and smiled. "Well hey there. Welcome back to the living."

"How long have I been asleep?"

Bobby looked at his watch. "Oh about 18 hours, give or take some minutes."

Sam pressed the back of his head into the raised part of the gurney. It felt like 18 years. "I need some help getting up."

"You got a..."

"Yeah, I took it out. I'd like to go to the bathroom by myself now."

"That's progress." Bobby got up and walked over to the portable bed that's been underneath Sam for a few days. Sam sat up straight slowly, the world unsteady. Bobby held onto his left arm as Sam swung his legs over the side of the bed and paused for a minute, waiting for his head to settle down.

"Okay?"

"Oh, I just think I'm gonna barf."

Bobby smiled. "On the count of three, you stand up." Sam slightly nodded.

"One, two, three!" They stood up, Sam a bit wobbly but holding his own. After he swerved for a few seconds, he got his balance. Bobby reached over and grabbed the IV cart, rolling over to Sam's side. "You want to get this while I hold onto you?

"Thanks." Sam grabbed onto the cart with his right hand while Bobby supported him with his left. They took very small steps over to the bathroom in the back of the cabin.

"Feel good to be walking again?" Bobby asked.

"No," answered Sam, still pretty woozy.

"Well at least if you need to get sick, you're in the right place." Bobby guided him through the bathroom doorway and then let go. Sam grabbed onto the sink for support and looked in the mirror. He gasped at the sight of Lucifer, and then shook it off.

"Everything all right?" Bobby asked.

"Just peachy," said Sam now seeing his own reflection in the mirror. He looked at the bandage covering the left part of his forehead and part of his hair. Sam moved his unsteady hands to the back wall behind the toilet, leaned forward and started his business.

"If you sprinkle when you tinkle, be a sweetie and wipe the seatie." Sam looked to his left and saw Lucifer's cheeky smile. He suddenly felt dizzy and closed his eyes, trying to steady himself. Intense panic filled him and he started breathing heavily. _"No, it's not real,"_ he told himself. It couldn't be. His brain was still foggy, so he had to get into the frame of mind to talk himself down.

"Everything okay in there?" Sam heard Bobby ask from the hallway. He was about to answer not in his freaking life, but instead he answered, "Yeah."

"Tap, tap," Lucifer said when Sam opened his eyes, looked left and still saw him there. Sam grimaced and then turned away. He finished what he was doing, stood straight up, and felt the world spin around him. _This can't be real. Why does it feel so real then?_ He fell backward, slamming against the opposite wall, but didn't go too far because Bobby was there to grab him.

"Sam?"

_It's not real, it not real,_ he repeated silently to himself, keeping his eyes closed, shaking like a leaf.

"It's okay, I got you," Bobby assured, holding onto him tight.

Sam kept his eyes shut and refused to move from his spot. It took a minute, but his orientation came back to him. He remembered the warehouse. He opened his eyes and grabbed onto his scarred palm. _This is real, this is real, _he told himself. One glance in the corner confirmed Lucifer was gone. He slowly straightened back up, standing on his feet. He turned to see an alarmed Bobby holding onto his left side.

"You back with me son?"

Sam nodded.

"Good, let's get you back to bed."

Sam moved forward, feeling Bobby put the IV cart in his right hand. He was still shaking, his heart pounding out of his chest, but things were clearer now. It was all coming back to him. "Do I really need this IV?" Sam asked, pulling the cart harder when one of the wheels snagged on the floor.

"Yep, the doctor wants you getting this medicine for a few more days. It helps prevent anymore swelling in the noggin."

"Not sure it's working. It feels like my brain is going to explode right now." They got over to the bed and Bobby helped Sam get settled back in.

"Can you get me a book or something?" Sam asked, not feeling very comfortable. "I don't think I can go back to sleep."

"Sure thing," Bobby said, going off to find some reading. Sam watched Dean sleeping on the couch, then tried to maintain inner control when he saw Lucifer hovering over Dean. He shushed Sam, bringing his finger to his lips, then went over to the firewood pile by the front door and picked up a hatchet. He gave Sam a wicked grin and walked back over to Dean. Sam closed his eyes just seconds before the hatchet went through Dean's skull.

"Here's somethin' for ya," Bobby said to Sam, handing him an old book. Sam opened his eyes to see Dean okay on the couch. "Thanks," he said a little shaky.

"You sure you're okay?" Bobby asked.

"Yeah, I'm okay. My head just hurts."

"Get some rest," Bobby said reassuringly. He went back to his reading at the table.

Sam looked to his left to see Lucifer stretching out in the bed next to him. "You heard him Sam, get some rest." All Sam felt aside from his pounding head was the deep pit in his stomach.

**a/n: Next one is going to be last chapter, unless I decide to extend it beyond "The Girl Next Door" scenario. Like maybe what Sam did during that ten days before "The Mentalists." Then again, that would nullify the title of "Three Weeks" huh? I'll ponder it more. **


	5. Chapter 5

**a/n: Again, I apologize. Writing this last part was a bear! I got it all figured out though. The last chapter turned out to be so long that I had to break it out into smaller chunks. So here's chapter 5, I'll post chapter 6 tomorrow and that will be the end of the fic. These last two chapters are Sam centric. Things are about to get really bad for Sammy. **

* * *

><p>Bobby slammed the front door of the cabin shut behind him. He tossed a bottle of pills Dean's way toward the couch, and noticed Sam was on the bed asleep. He put down a full bag of drugs on the table, choosing to give them to Sam later.<p>

"Why does he get more drugs?" Dean asked feeling slighted.

Bobby threw Dean a glance of disbelief while taking his jacket off. "The dude had brain surgery. Trumps your infected broken leg you whiner."

"Yeah, I keep getting reminded of that," Dean said, rolling his eyes.

Bobby looked over at Sam. "At least he's getting plenty of rest, like the doctor ordered."

"Yeah, but I think the 20 hours he's getting a day just isn't enough."

"Has he really been sleeping that long?" Bobby got two beers out of the fridge and went to hand Dean one. Dean surprised him by getting up and grabbing a crutch. He motioned Bobby toward the screen porch. They quietly went onto the porch and sat down, making sure not to disturb Sam. Dean made sure to take a long drink of that beer before he started talking.

"What is it?" Bobby asked in a low voice.

"Sam maybe sleeping, but it doesn't seem very peaceful. I know nightmares when I see them. He jolts awake and then doesn't say much. A lot of time he just stares off into space. Then he'll go to the bathroom or go back to sleep. I'm hoping he's just tripping from the drugs and not going down memory lane with Hell."

"Yeah, I noticed. But you know what the doc told us to watch out for. As long as they're not triggering seizures, he's physically okay."

"Physically, sure. But I know what nightmares do to a guy's head. I can't imagine what non-stop nightmares do to a guy that just had a hole drilled in his skull, let alone someone who was going through a psychotic break before all this happened."

"I hear ya. If things get too bad, we'll handle it."

Dean propped up his damaged leg on a side table, wincing over the uncomfortable feeling in the process. "He's been avoiding us. That's exactly what I'd do if something wasn't right. He hiding stuff from us again."

"Then we need to give him more time. Sam has always healed in his own way."

Dean gave Bobby a slight scowl, but didn't push the issue. He accepted that a lot of his worry was from being cooped up in this place, unable to do much with his gimp leg. Plus he was still feeling a little weak from the infection. The antibiotics were making him cranky. Couple that with beer and whiskey, and he was sleepy a lot too.

"Fine, we'll keep an open mind with Sam. Can you at least tell me how bad is it out there?" Dean asked.

"I honestly don't know," Bobby answered. "There hasn't been anything weird reported since the swim team thing. They're behaving, or being very good at covering things up."

"You mean like feeding on sick people in hospitals."

"Maybe. There haven't been any suspicious deaths out there. I've got every feeler out there is."

"I just wish I could be out there helping."

"I think you both desperately need some down time."

"Bobby-"

"Don't give me that. Are you not aware that you and your brother almost died? That you got yourself in a mess of trouble by not taking care of that leg? And that's on top of the fact that Sam and his imaginary BFF might be using this time to get cozy in their shared head space? You haven't exactly had your head on straight either. Consider this your mountain cabin retreat for a few weeks."

"Great, I'm gonna go stir crazy. I can never get comfortable enough to sleep long but I feel like sleeping all the time."

"Yeah, well I'm not sure how much longer I can hang out and help. I might have to take a few road trips. I've got several contacts to make since home base has a new location. I haven't even had time to decorate."

"Fine. As long as there is alcohol and a working TV, I'll make do."

Both sat silent for a few seconds, enjoying the humble view of the lush woods from the porch. "At least it's tranquil," Dean said, breathing in the fresh air. "It smells like pine."

"That's the spirit," Bobby said, slapping him on the shoulder.

* * *

><p>Sam took in a huge gulp of the morning air, enjoying his walk on the tranquil path, the warm sunlight beating down on him as he went forward. He focused on the serene setting, trying to shake the uneasy and sick feeling inside that's been dominating him ever since the wall broke.<p>

"You're avoiding me," a voice said from behind.

"That's the point," Sam said, still moving forward, talking himself through the problem. He grabbed his left hand, but Lucifer didn't budge.

"You see, that only works when you're awake. In your dreams, I'm in your grapefruit all the time."

That word "grapefruit" triggered the memory of him and his soulless self having their exchange. He shuddered, for it was too traumatic. What was happening to his mind?

"I like it in here. I think I'll build a summer home," Lucifer taunted.

Sam made a fist and lashed out behind him, but Lucifer wasn't there. Suddenly he was in front of him, grinning over his swift movement. "Temper, temper."

Bobby watched Sam toss and turn in his sleep until he suddenly shot awake. While Sam tried to catch his breath, Bobby dropped off pretending to sleep.

Sam looked around and noticed Bobby and Dean asleep. He blinked a few times, trying to waken himself from the terrible dream, then got up and headed toward the bathroom.

He was visibly shaking as he moved, his heart beating out of his chest, and his hands quivering when he splashed the cool water on his face. He was afraid to look left, or in the mirror, or anywhere. He pressed hard on his left hand. _This isn't happening, it's not real. _

Bobby got up cautiously, concerned after Sam was taking a good long time in the bathroom. Plus he thought he heard whispers. He looked into the bathroom to see Sam standing there, staring forward like he was in a trance, grabbing onto his hand. Bobby stepped slowly backward onto a creaky floorboard, making enough noise where it got Sam's attention.

Sam stepped out of the bathroom a few seconds later looking white as a ghost. "Hey Bobby," he said, using a hand towel to wipe off his face.

"Hey there. I guess the bathroom's free."

"All yours," Sam said with the most encouraging smile he could muster. "I'm gonna go back to bed now."

Bobby nodded and smiled, showing his approval, even though that every fiber of his being told him this kid was not in a good place right now.

* * *

><p>Dean and Bobby in comparing notes didn't like what they saw. It wasn't enough to sound the alarms yet though. Dean took the next shift, sitting at the table on the laptop. He looked up when Sam started thrashing again. Something was about to happen.<p>

Sam suddenly woke up, sweating and breathing heavily over his dream. Dean just watched calmly, letting his brother pull himself together. "Nightmare?"

"Um, yeah, I think." Sam blinked several times, the action waking him up a little.

"Anything you want to talk about?"

Sam shook his head. "Nah, I'm okay." Sam stood up, taking in a good long stretch. He was enjoying the fact he could finally get up on his own without feeling nauseous. He headed over to the screen porch.

"Where are you going?" Dean asked.

Sam pointed to the porch. "I need some air."

Dean slowly nodded and then watched his brother with caution as he went outside. Sam just sat down and began staring forward into space. '"Oh, this looks normal," Dean said to himself sarcastically.

Fifteen minutes later, Dean stood in the center of the living room, a leaning on the homemade crutch Bobby made him, watching Sam out in the screen porch. He continued to sit in the chair very still, staring off into space. Bobby came in and saw what he was doing.

"What's the matter?" Bobby asked, noticing Dean's worry.

"I just can't tell if he's checked out on us or not."

"Want me to go see?" Bobby offered.

"Nah, if he is out, let's give him a chance to bring himself back." Dean breathed a sigh of relief when Sam shifted his position.

"You can't keep doing that you know," Bobby said.

"What's that?"

"Watching his every move, waiting for the bottom to fall out."

"Yeah, well what else can I do? I'm already hooked on telenovelas 8 hours a day."

Bobby didn't like Dean worrying, but Sam's behavior was troubling to watch. "He certainly has taken a liking to the open air out there."

After another minute of staring, just to see Sam shake himself out of whatever he was lost in, Bobby tapped Dean on the shoulder. "Come on, I could use some help on some research somebody needs. They think they're hunting a banshee, but I think they've taken one too many blows to the head. Wanna help prove me right?"

"Twenty bucks I prove you wrong," Dean said, liking the idea of a challenge.

"You're on," Bobby said grinning. He knew that was easy money for him.

Dean followed Bobby to the kitchen, taking one last glance at Sam. He was staring forward again, but snapped out of it much quicker this time. Dean hoped that whatever Sam was doing to himself, it was helping in the end. His uneasy feeling told him better though.

* * *

><p>It didn't take Sam long to figure out that Dean and Bobby were taking turns watching him sleep. He hoped it was because they were making sure he wouldn't go into seizures while having a nightmare. He didn't want to believe the alternatives, like they didn't trust him. He knew his behavior lately hadn't done much to earn their trust, but he still wish he had it. He had enough to focus on over what was happening on his head and didn't want to bring Bobby and Dean's feelings into the mix. He couldn't at this time.<p>

Being watched while he slept added another complication. Since he wasn't sleeping well, most nights only getting a few hours, he was often avoiding sleep, just because the nightmares were messing with his head. He pretended to sleep though, just so Bobby and Dean would stop worrying about him. It was getting to be just as exhausting as not sleeping.

The lack of sleep though started to do something else, break down his emotional defenses. He did his best to avoid Bobby and Dean so he wouldn't show any signs of cracking or falling apart on them, but he knew deep inside he was barely holding it together. He felt them watching him when he sat on the porch. He'd been visualizing getting better while out there. He was zoning out a lot in the process though, the flashbacks overwhelming him with fear. He followed Betsy's advice though and talked himself through it. All this though was really taking it's toll on him physically and emotionally.

Finally one day, Sam needed a change of scenery. Desperately. He would fall apart otherwise. He watched Dean sleep on the couch as he put on his jacket, then walked across the room and turned the doorknob. When it clicked, that was enough to wake Dean.

"Where are you going?" A sleepy Dean asked, stretching long and hard with a big yawn.

"Gonna take a walk," Sam answered, going back to opening the door.

"Wait, wait, walk? By yourself? You okay to do that?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. I need to get back into shape."

Dean stared at him skeptically. "I don't like it, but you're a big boy. You call me or Bobby if you have any trouble."

Sam tried to avoid his automatic expression of disdain, but he couldn't. "Dean, I'm not 12."

"You had brain surgery Sam. Just making sure."

"Don't worry. I'll be fine." Sam opened the door and closed it, not giving Dean any chance to protest.

"I don't want to know your definition of fine," Dean said mumbling to himself. He had wished that Sam would have stuck around for a few more minutes and made him some coffee. He grabbed his crutch, cursing the whole way off the couch. "This coffee better be worth it." He limped into the kitchen.

* * *

><p>"Good morning Sam."<p>

Sam continued walking down the dirt road, clenching his teeth and grabbing his sore hand. _He's not real, he's not real, _Sam told himself over and over again.

"Reality is what you make things out to be Sam," Lucifer said, walking a few steps in front of Sam backward. "It's all about perception. It's not what Dean or anyone else tells you. If it's real to you, it's well...real."

Sam stopped and stared at Lucifer square in the eye. "You're not real." He then walked past Lucifer, focusing on the soft crunch of the path at his feet as he briskly moved forward.

"The memories are real Sam. The terror is real. All that torture, all that pain inside ripping you to shreds, you'll never be able to escape that. It'll stick with you forever." Sam stopped walking and closed his eyes, grabbing his left hand again. Lucifer wouldn't go though. "You're messed up Sam and you know it. How long can you go on like this before Dean or Bobby figure it out? You'll never be able to escape me."

Sam pressed on his hand harder, feeling the agony of the still raw crack in his palm. "You are not real."

"This is going to end badly for you Sam and you know it. There's only one way to escape from this. You know what it is."

Sam pressed even harder and the pain was good and sharp. "_I don't wanna die, I don't wanna die,_" he told himself over and over. Then he noticed the silence. He opened his eyes and looked around. Lucifer was gone. He let out a sharp breath of relief, but the uneasiness in his stomach wouldn't stop. Everything felt wrong. He'd never been comfortable in his own skin, but this felt even worse. That sickness inside lingered like he had a cancer that wouldn't go away. Even if he stopped seeing Lucifer, that didn't stop all the churning going on in his gut.

He did the only thing he could do. He shook it off, buried his thoughts deep, and continued walking. It only took five minutes before it started again.

"Why'd you bring your gun with you Sam?"

Sam stopped, fear again spiking inside. "I didn't."

"No? Then what's that in your right pocket?"

Sam fumbled in his jacket, stunned to feel the smooth mother of pearl handle of his pistol. He slowly pulled it out of his pocket. "What, I can't defend myself?"

Lucifer smiled. "Against who? Alvin and the Chipmunks? There's only one reason you want that gun nearby."

"No. That's not happening."

"Why fight it Sam? One pull and you'll find peace again. Perhaps you'll get that cozy little spot back in Heaven again."

"No way. I'm not leaving Dean behind in this crap hole of a world. He needs me."

Lucifer was suddenly face to face with Sam. "Needs you? All he does is worry about you, waiting for that moment when you'll shatter like a piece of glass. As much as I love to see Dean suffer, how is this helping him?"

Sam was suddenly flooded with guilt. He was aware how much he was making his brother's life miserable. Bobby spying on him was taking him away from more important things are well. Sam studied the gun in his hand again, the sunlight sparkling off the barrel.

"It can be all over in a matter of seconds," Lucifer said.

Sam thought about it again for a brief pause and then shoved his gun back in his pocket. "No. I won't do this."

"You always were a glutton for punishment," Lucifer taunted as Sam walked away.

An hour later, Sam came back to the cabin, finding all their firearms on the coffee table in front of Dean. He had taken one of the shotguns apart and was cleaning it.

"Have a good walk?" Dean asked, never looking up from his weapon.

"Yeah, fine." Sam walked by and that's when he spotted his pistol on the table. He jammed his hand in his pocket to find it empty.

"What is it?" Dean asked, noticing Sam turn a terrifying shade of white.

"Did I just put my pistol on the table?"

"No. We decided it might not be a good idea for you to be carrying a weapon yet, remember?"

Sam nodded slowly, playing along with what Dean said, even though the memory of having one outside spooked him to the core. He slipped out to the back porch and sat down.

Dean rolled his eyes. He wasn't in the mood to watch Sam have his private freak outs right now. He went back to cleaning the barrel.

"Check your pocket," Lucifer said grinning. Sam felt into this jacket and suddenly his gun was there again. Sam closed his eyes, pressed his thumb into the palm and Lucifer and the gun disappeared. Once he was sure they were gone, Sam buried his face into his hand and allowed himself to quietly crumble.

**a/n: Chapter 6 coming tomorrow. It's intense! Keep in mind that these two chapters, and the story in general, is meant to bridge the gap between "Hello Cruel World" and "The Girl Next Door." So all events leading up to the end have to keep that continuity in mind! I won't try to rewrite what was already presented, even if I think a rewrite would be fun. :) Thanks again for reading!**


	6. Chapter 6

**a/n: Here it is, the final chapter. I'll warn now, major Sam trauma coming. **

Sam's ritual continued, going for the long morning walk, only to spend most of it fighting Lucifer and his taunts. He felt he was getting better at it. However, he still wasn't sleeping very well, and he felt like his brain was in a total fog all of the time.

"Just hold on there," Dean told a somewhat woozy Sam, catching him heading out quickly for his walk.

"You need something?" Sam asked.

It wasn't lost on Dean how tired Sam looked. "Yeah, I need you to get a good night's sleep."

Sam dropped his head and shoulders and sighed. "Dean-"

"Don't give me that. You can't possibly think that I haven't noticed. I know all about nightmares Sam. I've been there. They will tear you apart if you let them control you. You want to have more seizures?"

"I'm fine Dean. I'm working on it."

"I've seen you walking around here like a total zombie. You're exhausted. You spend a lot of time out in that porch just staring into space. You're not okay."

"No, I'm not!" Sam shouted. He stopped, held his breath, and talked himself down from whatever anger rose inside him. "Thanks for your concern, I appreciate it, really, but I'm managing it. The walks help."

Sam went for the door and left before Dean could say anything else. He heard a "Sam, wait!" but chose to ignore it. He had to get out of there, fast. He couldn't talk to Dean right now. He needed to focus on his crumbling psyche right now. He didn't get down the road far though when it all started.

"Shouldn't ignore big bro like that." Sam's heart dropped.

"Oh yeah, you took advice from your big brother," Sam countered before cursing at himself for addressing his hallucination.

"Touche," replied Lucifer. "You do need some sleep though. You're a wreck."

Sam kept walking and went for his left hand. The stabbing pain in the cold morning air was especially uncomfortable, but he needed the strong reality check.

"Bring your weapon this time? Right, Dean won't let you have it. I can still help you out," Lucifer said. Within a minute Sam stopped in his tracks. He was standing at the edge of a beautiful river gorge.

"I know, it's not Mt. Everest, but it's steep enough," said Lucifer smiling. "Wild animals would probably find your body before anyone else did. They'd be looking for pieces of you."

Sam had trouble handling the quick and overwhelming panic that hit him. "How... how did I get here? The cabin isn't near a river." He took a step back, looking all around, wondering how he got there. _Is this real?_ He didn't recognize any of the area surrounding him. Then he looked at his watch. He had been walking for at least a half hour, maybe more. It felt like three minutes. "No, no, this can't be."

"Someone's going bonkers," Lucifer teased with a sing-song. "Insanity can't be fixed Sam. Dean already thinks you're beyond help. What's he going to think when he finds out about your little senior moments? Wandering off, no idea where you're going or how you got there?"

"I'm not listening to you!" Sam pressed on his hand again super hard, the sharp pain causing him to tear up a little. He grunted through it. Lucifer made a whistling noise, the sound of something falling a long way down. One more hard press and Lucifer went away, but Sam realized he was still on the edge of a cliff. He gazed down at the river below, contemplating the idea that was planted in his tired mind. He got lost in the rapid flow of the scenic river for a few minutes and considered the absolute worst. Would he be better off? Would this relieve Dean from his burden?

"No, no," Sam said, taking a few steps back. There was a large fallen log nearby. He stumbled over to it, sat down and buried his head in his hands, trying to pull it together. _What is happening, what is happening? _He knew that he was in trouble. He was breathing very hard and couldn't rationally talk himself through the situation. Nothing made sense anymore. He reached into his pocket, pulled out his cell phone, and dialed the number he had recently put in his contact list for emergencies.

"Hello?" The voice on the other end answered.

Sam paused for a second, wondering if he should be calling. He needed desperately to talk to someone. "Betsy?"

"Sam! How are you?"

"Fine," Sam answered, lying.

"That's good. I'm very surprised to hear from you. When I've given hunters my phone number, very few called. Actually, now I can count the times someone has called on one finger."

Sam let out a small laugh, but it was nervous laughter.

"Is there something wrong Sam?" Betsy asked.

"Um, no, it's just I, well, you know, I never got to say thank you before I left."

"You don't need to thank me Sam. I did my job."

"Yeah, well you have one of the strangest jobs I've ever seen. I'm grateful for what you've done."

"Thank you Sam." She sensed from his tone something wasn't right. "You know Sam, while I have you on the phone, maybe you can tell me if the nightmares have gotten better."

Sam frowned. "Um, no, they're still happening. I think I'm taking them better though."

"Write down what you remember Sam as soon as you wake up. It'll help, honest."

"I'll do that," Sam said nervously, not sure if he would or not.

"You sound tired Sam. How much sleep are you getting?"

"Um, not much."

"Oh Sam, you do know that's not good. Lack of sleep in any circumstance is bad, but in your condition, it affects you far worse. Before long, you won't know which way is up."

"Yeah well, I think I'm already there." Sam let out a sharp breath. "The hallucinations are back. It's getting hard to fight them."

"What are you seeing Sam?"

"Today, I'm near an edge of a cliff and a voice is telling me to jump off it."

Betsy gasped. "Okay, let's talk you through this. Do you want to die Sam?"

"No, or at least I don't think so." Sam pinched the bridge of his nose, wondering how he was in this mess. "Why is this happening?"

"You're exhausted, you've had a head injury which has been known to heighten anxiety, and you're suffering from severe post traumatic stress. That's a dangerous cocktail that would leave very few men standing. You probably feel very sick and confused inside. You've got to remember what we talked about."

"Yeah, I was hoping you could help me through this. My head's a little foggy right now."

"Sam, you've got to tell yourself reasons why you should live. Repeatedly. Fight any thought that tells you otherwise."

"Okay."

"Why do you want to live Sam?"

"Because my brother needs me."

"Good, you never stop telling yourself that. You make it your main purpose for getting out of bed in the morning. All you need is one important reason, and the rest will follow. You also have to find some way to get some sleep. It's very important. Get some tranquilizers, do something."

"Okay," Sam answered. He knew Dean always kept some around.

"What are you seeing right now Sam?"

Sam looked ahead and slightly smiled. "A spectacular river gorge. It's quite a sight."

"It sounds nice. How far away are you from Dean and Bobby?"

Sam's stomach turned sour. "I'm not sure. I don't remember walking here."

"You've got to call Bobby and have him come get you."

"No, no, Dean and Bobby can't know about this. They can't know I'm having trouble."

"You've got to go back to them now Sam."

"Yeah, yeah, I will. I'll use the map on my phone. I can make it."

"You want me to stay on the line?"

"No. I'll be okay."

"Don't hesitate to call me if you get in a bind. Call me later, or send a text, let me know you made it back okay."

"Sure. I'm gonna go now. Thanks Betsy." Sam hung up the phone and inhaled a huge gulp of the fresh mountain air. _You can do this. _He fumbled with the keys on his phone, pulling up the maps program. He was stunned to see how far he really walked. _Why don't I remember?_

Sam got up and promptly followed the map's directions, but his head was a mess. It was throbbing, and he could barely focus. In his exhaustion he felt dizzy and disoriented, not to mention terrified. He had to get back though, he couldn't let Dean or Bobby see him like this. His legs felt like lead weights with every step but he pressed on. Getting back felt like an eternity, but he focused hard and maintained his course.

As he got closer, Sam's state of mind improved. He started to calm down a bit and he thought he would be settled enough by the time he got back to not tip off Dean or Bobby that anything was wrong. Once he walked up the driveway, he was feeling better. He just had to get inside and lie down for a while. That would help him. With each step he grew calmer and more determined. He felt huge relief when he finally had his hand on the doorknob and turned.

The door cracked open and a horrified Sam gasped over the first thing he saw. He wasn't prepared for what was on the other side. _No, no, this isn't real. _He stepped closer in a slow shuffle, unable to comprehend what was in front of him. Dean was sprawled out on the kitchen table, face down, blood pouring out of his temple. In Dean's hand was Sam's still smoking revolver.

"No, no, Dean, this can't be." Sam broke into tears, for real or not, it was still too shocking for his fragile mind to take. He froze at the table, gazing at the dead eyed stare of his brother as thick red oozed all over the table surface.

"You see Sam, you drove him to do it," Lucifer taunted, who was now beside him. "Your reason for living is gone."

"No, this isn't real."

"It's your gun Sam. Do you see Dean anywhere else?

Sam looked all around, but no one else was there. "Dean!" he shouted, but got no answer. Dean wouldn't go anywhere on his broken leg.

"He's gone Sam."

"No," Sam said, tears streaming down his face. "No, where's Bobby? He can help. He can...oh God, Dean. Why?" Sam dropped to his knees, breaking into pronounced sobs. "I did this to him. It's all my fault."

"Of course it's your fault," Lucifer said, hunching over Sam. "Do what's right. Finish the job. This way, you can both go out together." Lucifer had Sam's gun in his hand. Sam gazed at the gun with paralyzing fear, then slowly took it out of Lucifer's hand. He looked again at Dean's corpse, then checked the magazine to see there were bullets.

"Fully loaded," Lucifer confirmed.

A distressed Sam nodded, his eyes still fixed on his brother as he slowly moved the gun to his chin. He pressed end of the barrel deep in the soft spot and...

"Sammy!" Dean limped out of the bathroom to find Sam on the kitchen floor, seizing. He moved as fast as he could to his fallen brother. "Crap, no, don't do this. I can't take you anywhere."

Dean pulled out his cell phone. "Bobby, come quick! It's Sam. He's on the floor seizing. Yeah, I'll hold him tight."

Dean grabbed onto Sam's shoulders, holding him steady. He felt nothing but total fright and helplessness for what seemed like hours, even though the seizure stopped a few minutes later. Dean's panic didn't wane when Sam didn't wake up from the seizure.

"No, this can't be happening. Wake up Sam!" Dean said, grabbing onto his brother's jacket and shaking him. He checked Sam's neck to make sure he had a pulse and then confirmed was breathing.

"It's okay Sammy. You're doing good." That's when he saw something in Sam's right hand. A stunned Dean pried the object away, shocked to see it was his pistol.

"What are you doing with that Sammy?"

* * *

><p>Bobby arrived twenty minutes later to find one very spooked Dean sitting on the floor next to a still unconscious Sam. "Dean, what happened?"<p>

"I...I don't know. I came out of the bathroom and there he was."

"This is what the doc warned us about. It happens when he gets too exhausted." Bobby checked Sam's pulse and it was fine. He grabbed Sam underneath the shoulders and dragged him over to the bed, making him as comfortable as he could. Once Sam was okay, he pulled out his cell phone. "Gonna call the Doc."

"Don't bother," said a very shaken Dean. "I already did. I talked to his assistant, Betsy. They'll see about getting Sam looked at somewhere. Until then," Dean pulled out his bottle of tranquilizers in his pocket and shook them, "he's on bed rest."

Bobby nodded and went to help Dean off the floor. Dean was staring at the ground, still bothered by something. "What's wrong?" Bobby asked.

Dean held up Sam's pistol. "He had this in his hand Bobby. What do you think he was doing with it?"

"I'm not sure but whatever it was, his broken noggin put a stop to it."

"Yeah, I suppose."

Dean took Bobby's hand and together they lifted him off the ground.

"How about we have a little hunter's helper ourselves?" Bobby suggested.

"That's the best idea I've heard all day," Dean replied.

* * *

><p>When Sam's eyes opened, most of the room was dark, except for the low light of the table lamp next to him. Things were quiet too, so he knew he wasn't in any sort of peril. Once he was able to focus, he saw Dean sitting on the bed across from him, his bad leg propped up.<p>

"Dean?" Sam tried to sit up, but his head was pounding.

"Don't talk. You need to go back to sleep."

"What happened?"

"You had a massive seizure, that's what happened. Did I try to tell you that could happen if you didn't sleep?"

Sam rolled his head backward, trying like mad to recall the last thing that happened to him. It was all a fog. "I don't remember."

"I found you on the kitchen floor. You must have just gotten back from your nature hike. I figure you saw something, because you had your pistol in your hand."

"I did?" Everything was too fuzzy. Then the memory of the cliff hit him. He shuddered, which alarmed Dean.

"You remembered something."

"Nothing bad, just a scenic river." The memory was far more frightening than that, but he wasn't about to tell Dean. "How long have I been out?"

"Since this morning. It's 2 am now. You had us worried sick. The doc is coming into town tomorrow and you're getting another scan. We gotta be sure you're okay."

Sam stared at Dean's worried face. He felt bad that his brother spent the day fussing over him. "Okay."

Dean reached over to the table next to the bed and grabbed two pills and a glass of water. "In the meantime, you're sleeping."

"I'm okay."

"Ah, ah, no arguing. This is doctor's orders." He put the pills and the glass of water next to Sam. He didn't like his brother's frown.

"Do I have to force them down your throat?"

"No." Sam went to grab the pills, and that's when he noticed his right hand wouldn't move more than an inch. He saw one end of the handcuffs around his wrist and the other anchored to the bed. He threw Dean a look of deep disapproval, and grabbed the pills and water with his left hand. Dean kept his eyes fixed on him, making absolutely sure he swallowed the pills.

"That's better." Dean stretched out on his bed and settled in for some sleep.

"Dean, I got to..."

"There's a bucket next to you. You aren't getting out of bed."

Dean smiled, feeling assured that he would finally get some rest. Sam sighed and chose to fall asleep as well. He didn't have much other choice.

* * *

><p>"Good job Sam. I believe we're done." The doctor moved him out of the CT chamber and then helped him sit up. Sam couldn't believe that the doctor arranged to come to Montana and do new scans of their injuries at a nearby medical center. He must have known someone.<p>

"Well, how am I?"

"Nothing unusual. If anything, it's almost like you didn't have a brain injury at all. I said almost though. There's still traces. No more driving yourself to exhaustion. "

"Yeah, sorry about that."

"Well, a long rest fixes that in the short term. How are you feeling right now? Tired, or weak, or faint?"

"A little tired, but nothing major."

"And you having been experiencing any sudden changes with emotions or behavior?"

"No, I'm good."

The doctor scoffed. "Liar. Good thing Betsy filled me in. No worries, it's our secret. I hope you've found a way around your sleeping issues."

"For now, yes. It's called my brother watching me like a hawk."

"Keep it up then. You don't seem to be the only one bathing in some magic healing waters. Your brother's leg is good enough where the cast can come off in a week."

"Really?"

"Yep. I'm not sure how you boys have done it, but you're quite amazing healers. I'd joke about selling your souls, but was told that might be hitting some sore spots. It seems mentioning angels gets the same reaction too. So I'll just go with somebody somewhere likes you."

"I don't know about that," Sam said. He didn't feel like they've been getting any breaks lately. He'd just enjoy this one.

"Okay, get out of here. I hope to see you again...well never. How about next time you blow up your skull in a real hospital?"

"Not like I had a choice, but I will. Thanks for fixing me up. You saved my life."

"Don't mention it. Okay, mention it a little. You're definitely the largest patient I've ever had to haul around."

"Come on Sam, let's roll," Dean said as Bobby wheeled him into the room. "I've got a fresh batch of happy pills and my show comes on in a half hour."

"I think we need to get a DVR." Sam stood up and grabbed Dean's wheelchair. He pushed him toward the door, then stopped and turned around. "Thanks Doc, I really mean it."

The doctor nodded and waved. Bobby stayed behind to give his own thanks. "They mean the world to me. I owe you plenty more now."

"I'll be calling in favors one day and you know it. You're on the top of the list now."

"Fair enough. I'm sure you'll see me again."

"Bye Bobby." The doctor's smile turned sad as soon as Bobby left the room. For some reason, he couldn't shake this feeling that he would never see Bobby Singer again.

* * *

><p>"So we're cured," Dean said in the van on the way back to the cabin.<p>

"You both have at least another couple of weeks of healin' left," Bobby said. "Don't push your luck."

"Sam here's going on daily nature walks. If anyone's pushing his luck. I mean, aren't there bears, coyotes and mountain lions in Montana?"

"They're everywhere. They're called zoos," Bobby said.

Sam sat in the back and didn't catch of word of what they were saying. He was lost in thoughts looking through the back window. They weren't particularly bad thoughts, but he was definitely pensive after the visit to the doctor. He did remember how close he came to dying. That memory spooked him worse than anything else that happened to him recently.

"You with me Sam?" Dean asked. Sam shook himself from his daydreaming.

"Yeah."

"So you think you can handle it?"

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Bobby taking a trip back to South Dakota to fetch my baby. You think you can handle nursing me for a day?"

"Sure, no problem." Sam moved his eyes back to the window, only to see Lucifer in the back of the van. He quickly squeezed his hand and he disappeared. Sam let out a silent sigh of relief. Sending Lucifer away was getting easier.

"I can't believe its been only three weeks," Dean said. "This whole adventure feels like it's taken years off my life."

"You and me both," Bobby said.

"What about you Sam?" Dean asked. "Does it feel like three weeks to you?"

"It feels like less," Sam answered. "Time has flown by."

"Spoken by the guy with the cracked skull," Bobby said. "Everything seems way off when the eggs are scrambled, right Sam?"

Sam took one more look at the window and was pleased to see Lucifer still wasn't there. That didn't stop his sense of inside panic, but he was starting to understand this new world in which he lived. He liked finding a sense of control, even if he was terrified. "Right. I'm in my own world, but they know me here."

Bobby and Dean both let out a laugh over Sam's joke. Sam smiled too, especially when Lucifer remained gone after he stopped holding his left hand. Maybe there was hope for him after all. He knew he had a long road ahead of him yet though. It was going to be a while before he could stop pretending that everything was alright.

**a/n: Did you like it? I just never bought into the idea that Sam was suddenly okay after "Hello Cruel World." Hopefully this drama did that belief a little justice. Thanks again to all of you that left comments and chose this story for your favorites and alerts list. Perhaps I'll write more in the future if season seven has any more gaping holes. **


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